The Rain Doesn't Grieve
by GuiltyRed
Summary: The Elders of Esset are dead, and the men of Weiss crawl from the ocean to begin a new life. They must choose their own paths now – with Kritiker, or alone. A love forsaken, a friendship betrayed; in their hearts it is raining. YxS, YxA, KxA
1. 01

**1**

_Chigireta bara o mune ni daite _

_shinku no umi ni ochiteyuku_

**Ken Siberian**

_I think I'm dying._

_Well, if that's true, then I guess this won't hurt so bad._

Farfarello had turned from me and was trying to stomp Omi to death. _Omi, otooto, my friend, I won't abandon you!_

I hauled myself up, bracing against the wall. He didn't see me, he was only intent on his kill. The room spun, and I thought I was going to fall. I took a deep breath, kicked off from the wall and lunged.

The crazy man slid back with the impact but did not lose his balance. He grappled with me, trying to foul my aim. With a yell I pulled one hand free and punched, releasing the claws as I did so. I heard a sickening wet sound as they slid up under his jaw and into his brain.

His arms tightened around me and he grinned, his one yellow eye gleaming. In spite of the steel impaling his head, Farfarello held me close, his mouth opening to speak, or to bite.

Beneath us, the floor tilted.

We were falling, or I was falling, or maybe I was finally dying, I really didn't know anymore. It felt like I was spilling out of a dark hole in the back of my head, alone in the night except for my personal demon who held me in a snake's embrace.

From far away I heard the madman speak as we fell together, the words crisp and amazingly clear. "From Hell's heart, I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee."

_Die with me then, youkai._

**Yohji Balinese**

_Damn that Schwarz! He had to push things, and now it's come to this. _I caught the red-haired gaijin with a loop of wire as Manx and Sakura carried Aya-chan to safety. I should never have given him a chance, I should have taken him out long before this.

Regret is cheap. Besides, he was never a target.

Why the hell was I fighting him now? 

Because Aya will never let this go. Not after they took his sister. We will fight, because we have nothing else to live for. Omi, Ken, Aya – they've all lost pieces of themselves, being Weiß. Anything that was loose before has been broken away.

_And Yohji…_

I snarled at the little internal voice that tried to equate my life with theirs. There was no comparison; I was broken well before Weiß. If I could have left, I would have, but from some things there can be no turning back.

My opponent twisted, got his hand caught in the wire and started pulling it free. Our eyes met.

I let the wire go slack.

The floor bucked beneath us, then seemed to fold and crack into sections. The redhead started to fall away from me, reaching out for anything to hold onto. His eyes were wide as he screamed, "I don't want to die!" I grabbed for his hand, his words echoing in my head. But I must have imagined it; there was so much noise I couldn't possibly have heard one voice like that.

I couldn't catch him. Arms outstretched, I slid backwards off a paving stone into a free-fall. Around me the tower shook itself apart and vanished into the ocean. As the water poured into the dying structure, it hit something hot, sending up a plume of steam. I searched frantically through the mist for something to anchor my wire to, intent on getting myself secure and then hauling my teammates to safety. Some of the vertical supports still stood; they looked solid enough. I flung out my wire.

It's worked a dozen times before, relying on the wire to catch on something sturdy and support my weight in a dead fall.

It didn't work this time. The outcropping of granite started to crumble the moment my wire took hold on it. I tried to get more free to try another loop, but I hit the water on my back and for a moment it was all I could do just to breathe.

A tug, then a pull on my arms – I had just enough time to suck in one deep breath, then I was falling, trailing behind a piece of tower to the ocean floor.

My heart beat desperately fast; I tried to remain calm, or I'd use up that last breath of air for nothing. My rational mind kept repeating that it was relatively shallow here; once I got free, I could reach the surface with ease. I reminded myself that all I had to do was release the wire, and I would be fine.

_Oh god – I can't reach it!_

The damned wire had wrapped around me as I fell, and it held my right hand inches from the release catch. I strained, one arm tied to a chunk of debris and the other…

Pain lanced through my neck as I struggled, a slicing pain mixed with crushing pressure.

I panicked, air leaking out of my lungs as I fought to get my right hand over to the catch on the watch, but the wire cut into my throat with every move.

_God, no! Not like this!_

The stone anchor hit the sand, and tilted. I felt a little give in the wire. But I also felt very light-headed, and my chest hurt.

Maybe I could reach the surface, I could see dim light filtering down, I couldn't be that far away from it! Kicking powerfully, I propelled myself upward, gagging as the wire tightened around my neck and I inhaled that first mouthful of seawater.

Above me, the water began to glow a brilliant and beautiful green, like burning jade. Drifting toward me, was that an angel? Black wings, so beautiful, like a thing born to fly through water as easily as air, and a sword, a warrior angel…

_Oh, Aya… I'm so sorry…_

_He looks peaceful…_

Is this death, then? It's quiet… 

Through the glow came the voice of the shinigami come to bear me away.

"Yohji…"

…_Asuka?_

**Ran Abysinnian**

"Stand still and fight!" _What is he, that he knows my every move before I do? A demon, but I do not believe in demons. He is only a man, an evil man who deserves death a thousand times over for what he has done._

"Kitsuneme," I hissed as he dodged yet again, his eyes mocking me.

The building shuddered under my feet. The fire below had surely destroyed Esset, and now sought to devour us as well.

No matter. We would finish our mission, come hell or death. I cared not for either, so long as my sister made it to safety.

My life was long ago forfeit.

Across the room, I had seen the little monster throw Bombay into the wall, and the lunatic bash the life out of Siberian. Half done. Now Balinese seemed to have gotten the better of the sadistic gaijin, and the women were long gone.

All I cared for was an honorable end, and this yankii bastard was intent on denying me. _Give me my peace, damn you!_

The world cracked, tipped, broke apart into dust-colored meteors propelled by fire into the cold of the sea. _All done._

It was over.

I held fast to my sword, as a dying warrior should do. My enemy regarded me with a serene, knowing smile as he closed his eyes and fell to his end. I raced him down, with massive shards of the tower falling around us.

_Close your fox-eyes, coward. I would go to my death with my eyes open._

Below me yawned the mouth of the sea, sucking the flotsam of our world into its belly.

I hit with the impact of a car crash.

A piece of wall landed near enough to me to force me back to the surface. I tried to tread water, my body evidently not as willing to die as my heart.

_My team!_

I looked around for any sign of them.

The red-haired Schwarz floated on his belly, a dark stain in the water above his head. As I watched, he began to sink with eerie slowness.

Then I began to sink too. I accepted this, but kept my eyes open, and held my breath for a few more moments. I had to see, I had to know.

Below me, something twisted and thrashed like a speared fish.

Yohji! 

Oh, hells, he was caught in his wire! I aimed for him, still clutching my sword, and I offered my soul once more to duty. _I must die another day – I will not let him drown._

As I neared him, his eyes widened, reflecting the green of the sea. Then they sagged shut and a thin stream of bubbles poured from his lips and nose. _If all my crimes must be judged this day, let me save this one man, or at least let me give him the coup de grâce before the sea can take him!_

I took aim, and struck.

Omi Bombay 

_Oh God, I hurt._

Everything's gone wrong.

Twisting violently, I fought to turn over in the sand, but the water kept trying to pull me back. I was tempted to let it.

Instead, I got my body turned enough that I could get my arms under me. I grabbed handfuls of sand, not solid enough to help me move.

_Why can't I feel my legs?_

Darkness and grey light took turns playing with my eyes – _I think I'm passing out_. All I knew was I had to find them. I had to know if they made it, even if the knowing proved the end of me.

_There's a shape near the water._ I dug my elbows into the sand and hauled myself arm over arm toward it. _I don't think I'm going to make it._ My back hurt, and my legs were dead weight in the sand. My arms began shaking with the strain, and my vision turned shadowy again.

"Ken," I whispered as the shape resolved itself into my friend, my brave, fool of a friend who tried to save me from a madman and took the killing blow himself. Tears fell into the teasing surf as I pulled myself around his body to gather him into my arms. It took nearly all my strength to do so, but I couldn't let him lie in the water like that.

Something was moving where nothing should be. I looked up to see a white ghost gazing at me across the sand. The ghost looked vaguely familiar; I supposed it would, if it had come to take us away. _I am ready. I am more than ready: my team is dead, my friends, the only family I want to claim in the world._

Then I heard a voice, as if the ghost whispered into my ear though he stood some distance away. His lips didn't even move as he said, "He's alive. So are the others. They're about twenty meters further down, well above the tide line."

I knew that voice. And ghosts don't usually have red hair. So at least one of the Schwarz survived as well, and he was offering me the only thing I wanted: hope.

I whispered "Arigato" and watched as the red-haired Schwarz hurried toward a weatherbeaten shack, erasing his footprints as he went. _Definitely alive, then, if he leaves footprints._ And that means, just maybe, he was telling me the truth about my team.

Manx must have gotten away to call for help: I could hear sirens approaching. "Ken," I gasped, "don't die! I have to find the others, but I won't leave you! Help is coming. Just hang on!"

My arms felt weak as I crawled away in the direction of my other friends. I tried not to think about this, but the dread had built up in my heart. He said they were alive, but when?

_Why didn't he kill us?_

I didn't have time to think about that; I could see Yohji. _I'm almost there. So far…_ My back felt twisted inside, something grated with every move, but I couldn't stop. My hand reached out and fell on Yohji's chest. He was breathing.

"Ite-e!" Fresh pain lanced up from my hand as my fingers snagged on Yohji's wire; I flinched. Then a cold, dull pain settled at the base of my skull. _I can't turn my head now._ Slowly, too slowly, I pulled myself toward the water again. There was another shadow there, just past Yohji's boots.

My groping hand encountered half buried steel. I forced myself to keep moving in spite of a growing numbness. Then I heard a low moan, the sound of life not yet forsaken, and I collapsed in the sand. We'd made it. Somehow, by some miracle, we'd all made it.

I managed to roll onto my side to watch as a retrieval unit swept onto the beach looking for us. "Get Ken, he's right over there," I groaned, pointing as best I could, lacking the strength to return to his side. The agents swarmed past me and around me, taking my unconscious teammates on stretchers toward the waiting vans.

As I waited for them to come back for me, I saw something gleaming in the surf. I reached for it with bloody fingers, leaving red trails in the sand as I dug the glimmer free. _So the Schwarz had truly been here, and spoken to me without sound._ My fingers clutched the tiny gold tie-chain, a button still clipped at one end. The red-haired dandy had been wearing this with his fancy white suit. He had told me my team was alive.

And he didn't want to be found.

Before my own people got close enough to see, I slipped the chain into my pocket. I didn't know why, but it seemed important that no one else know what I saw today. Not yet, anyway. If he wants to be found, he'll come back.

_But…somehow…I know he won't._

**A/N:**

_Chigireta bara o mune ni daite_

_shinku no umi ni ochiteyuku_

I embrace the torn rose to my chest

and fall into the crimson sea

"Lu:na (Luna)" – Gackt _Moon_

In this chapter, each man is still speaking as a Weiß operative, hence the codenames. These "secondary titles" will change throughout the story, as needed. Also, not every chapter will feature the same members of Weiß, though I will keep them in the same order when they do appear together.

**Ken Siberian **

_otooto_ – little brother

_youkai_ – demon

**Yohji Balinese **

_shinigami_ – angel of death

**Ran Abysinnian **

_Kitsuneme_ – "Fox-eyes"

_gaijin_ – foreigner (rude)

_yankii_ – American (rude; also name of a gang of toughs)

_coup de grâce_ – the killing blow, delivered as a mercy

**Omi Bombay**

_Arigato_ – thank you

_Ite-e!_ – Ouch!


	2. 02

**2**

_Mabuta o tojitemo ima wa ano basho ni mou nido to kaerenai_

**Ken Siberian**

Voices… Omi's voice, telling me not to die. A man's voice, a doctor?

Is the mission over?

_What the hell hit me?_

They said something about rebuilding my skull, and seizures. And coma.

_I think I'll sleep a little while longer…_

**Yohji Kudou**

_Fever is almost as good as being drunk, without the guilt. Too bad I hurt too much to enjoy it._

I know I asked the nurse what happened to the others, but damned if I could remember the answer. My mind felt greased, like nothing would stick. Everything whirled in a green void, with pinpricks of pain to remind me I hadn't died yet.

It was so nice of Asuka to watch over me while I rested.

Now if I could only remember how I got here.

**Ran 'Niichan**

"Where's my sister?" _Kami-sama, is that my voice? I sound like…a drowned man._

_I can't tell if my eyes are open. Everything is white._

That harsh croak of a voice called out again, and I felt my throat tighten around the words: "Where is she? Where's Aya?"

"She's fine, Ran. She's with Manx."

I didn't recognize that voice, but it didn't matter. Breathing hurt. It was all I could do to drag air into my chest, and it was getting harder with every try. _White turns to black, and I am falling again…_

**Omi Orphan**

_I've never seen so many doctors before. They're working so hard to save our lives._

_I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, gomen nasai!_

I guess I hurt myself moving around like that, but I couldn't explain that to the doctors. They gave me a shot and everything went vague. Something was very wrong in my back, that much I knew. And I made it worse by crawling through the sand. They wouldn't understand that the only way I could stay alive was knowing my team wasn't lost.

Weiß was my only family, now; I had to hold onto them for as long as I could, or lose myself forever.

**A/N:**

_Mabuta o tojitemo ima wa ano basho ni mou nido to kaerenai _

Even if I close my eyes right now, I can't go back there again

"Wasurenai Kara (Because I Won't Forget)" – Gackt _Moon_

**Ken Siberian**

Still in Weiß mode, in spite of his injuries.

**Yohji Kudou**

The break has begun.

**Ran 'Niichan **

Returning to his singular priority:

_'Niichan_ – shortened from _oniichan_, big brother

**Omi Orphan**

Due to circumstances outlined in the original series, Omi has no family left that he can claim as his own, for his true name is (in his mind) unclean. Here he is afraid that he's about to lose Weiß, the only family he wants to admit to anymore.

_gomen nasai_ – I'm sorry

**Review Mailbag:**

**_NightMaiden02_** – Thank you! It's quite different for me to write the Weiß point of view, I'm so used to working for the other side. (Can't wait to see what my Schu-san muse does with this story!)

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – I agree, that series ending episode was one of the absolute best. Yohji will become a focus of this story, and I do plan to show how he got the way he was in Gluhen. Hopefully it will all come together and make sense by the time I'm done.

**_Lestat197_** – Again, their viewpoints will be a writing challenge, and I love those!

_**Koneko**_ – Everyone interested in your question about pairings, come to my live journal, I blogged it. This particular story will actually have a few, and eventually one that should shock your socks off.

**_may_** – Which part of Yohji are you looking forward to?

**_Shadowgirl1_** – When we get to the chapters where this story intersects "Coming Home," you'll notice that the dialog won't all match. This is deliberate – get two people talking, and ask each one later what was said, and there will be differences. The interesting thing will be, what does Yohji notice that Schuldig might have missed, and vice versa?

**_dimonyo-anghel_** – Way far from over, my friend! We've got at least twelve years to tell. Don't worry, it'll pick up a lot of speed and skip over the dull parts.

_**Star Princess Meesa**_ – You've only got 7 weeks of story time to wait.


	3. 03

**3**

_Feelings like sand falling through my hands…_

**Omi Bombay**

It has been three weeks since our rescue.

Ken was still unconscious. They didn't know if he would fully recover from his head injury. Yohji has been fighting off some kind of infection; who knows what was in that accursed water? And Aya…Ran. His name is Ran, now. He was lucky not to have been crushed to death in the fall.

The surgeon told me I might be able to walk again, someday. I wouldn't mind so much, if I could just see the others. They won't even put me in a wheelchair, something about keeping my spine immobile. I couldn't even turn my head, but at least I could scratch my nose if I had to. I don't understand everything they had to do to me. It's too technical, really.

Maybe they could set up some video monitors?

I would miss jogging, and just walking across a room, but I don't think I'd miss being Weiß so much. At least it would be a good way to get out of that line of work, ne? _Why do I always start to cry when I think about that? Damn it._

Maybe I could bribe someone to get me into a wheelchair?

No, that wouldn't do. I was scheduled for another surgery on Friday. I'd just have to wait and see. Guess that's what happens when you land on something solid when you're expecting water.

_I wonder how Schwarz survived? And, how many?_ I glanced over at the dresser, at the little box holding whatever personal items I'd had on me. In it lay coiled the little gold tie chain, the button still attached at one end. That one thing kept me grounded in reality through the surgeries and the pain, and the weird narcotic-filled dreaming. He hadn't lied to me. I'd thought he was a twisted, sadistic bastard, and in the end he didn't lie, or harm any of us. He'd simply vanished without a backward glance.

I sighed, then grunted as soft pain spread from my back at the movement. Everything felt dull and foggy, but I could still recognize pain. Helpless tears welled up again as I contemplated life in a wheelchair. Though my days with Weiß would be over, my time with Kritiker would never end. I owed them too much to just – _heh, I was going to say 'walk away'._

The tears slid free, and I didn't bother to wipe them up. I didn't care, really I didn't, so long as my friends were alive.

That wasn't exactly true. I did care. Circumstances were building that would forever separate us, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. If I could walk, perhaps I could take a different road, but the prognosis did not look hopeful. Maybe months or even years down the line, but by then things would be set in stone, and my fate sealed forever.

_He almost forgave my name. He will never forgive this._

I fumbled for the call button. I didn't need anything except someone to talk to, and it didn't matter who anymore.

The door opened, admitting a nurse and a visitor. Whenever I saw the brilliant red mane I now thought of Schwarz, but it never was; those questions would have to remain unanswered. This redhead was a woman, currently my only connection to my team.

I assured the nurse that I just wanted some water and some company, and both were now provided. She bowed and left us alone to talk.

"Manx, hello again." I smiled up at her and held out my hand.

She sat delicately on the edge of my bed and took my hand in hers; they were warm, and she smelled of sunshine. "Hello, Omi. How are you feeling today?"

"Lonely," I admitted, "and worried about the others. As usual."

"I've looked in on them today," she told me. "Ken's condition hasn't changed, but at least he's stable. They're actually thinking about letting Yohji out of the hospital. It seems he's fought off his illness, and won't have to be on antibiotics much longer."

"That's great," I blurted, then added, "about Yohji, anyway. And…Ran?"

Manx bowed her head. "Ran wants to return to Weiß as soon as possible. He's requested that his sister be cared for, with no contact. We've put her up in a nice apartment near the college. She's going to try to pick up her life, and Kritiker will be paying the bills."

"That's a good thing. She deserves it." If Ran didn't want to see his own sister, the person he had killed for, nearly died for, that meant he intended to remain an assassin for the rest of his life. That meant…

"Omi? What's wrong?"

Oh, hell, I was crying again. "It's nothing, Manx. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed by everything, that's all."

Manx looked down, gave me some privacy to get some self control back. Cautiously she asked, "And have the doctors told you anything new?"

"No. They haven't. They're going to try one more reconstruction on Friday, then we'll just have to wait and see. If it works, the next step will be physical therapy. But I don't think I'll be dancing for a long while, in any case."

Not that I had anyone left to dance with.

**A/N:**

_Feelings like sand falling through my hands… _

"Alone" – _Saiyuki_ soundtrack

**Omi Bombay**

Though he wants desperately to remain "one of the team", Omi is already preparing for another role within Kritiker, a role he anticipates will separate him from his chosen family forever.


	4. 04

**4**

_sometimes you have no choice, sometimes you've got no voice to say…_

**Omi Goodbye**

"Man, you look a mess."

"Thanks," I replied, smiling a little.

Yohji stopped a few feet from my bedside, the white paper mask covering his nose and mouth. He looked down, but not before I saw the flash of pain in his seawater eyes. "I wanted to say goodbye."

"I know."

Yohji frowned at me. "Did Manx tell you?"

"She didn't have to. Your work is done, isn't it. Why would you stay with Weiß now? You're a detective, Yohji, not an assassin. Go out and be brilliant." I hoped he was listening to my words and not the tears behind them. With Ken still in serious condition, Yohji was the closest thing to a big brother I had anymore. I hated to see him go, but I knew I had no choice. I could watch him leave, or I could close my eyes.

"Omi, I… Thank you," Yohji murmured, voice husky. "I'll keep in touch, if you don't mind. If it hasn't been burgled too badly, I was thinking about going back to that apartment I kept, you know, where I took my dates?"

"I know the place."

"When they let you out, come by for a visit," Yohji offered, smiling valiantly around his mask. He took a couple of steps closer, then leaned over and gently grasped my hand. "You'll be walking up my staircase in no time, my friend."

Great, he had to say it. The tears spilled over and I clung to his hand and just let them fall. "And I'll bring Ken-kun with me," I sobbed, "and Aya, and we can all have tea together…" My voice broke off as grief overwhelmed me.

"Hey, Ken's going to be just fine," Yohji said with no hint of doubt. "You have to believe that, Omi. We're all going to be just fine. Me, I've just decided to take my retirement buyout while I still can. I…I don't want to do it anymore. And now they're kicking me out of the hospital, saying I'll finish mending better at home anyway. I'll be there when you come to visit. And bring Ken, and Aya if he'll come, though I think he'd rather be peeled and salted before setting foot in my apartment." The old humor had returned to his eyes, turning them a darker jade.

"Thanks for coming by," I told him, sensing it was time for him to go.

Yohji gave my hand one last squeeze, then turned and strode out of my room.

At least he had come by.

Ran had left without a word.

Before I could slide further into my sorrows, the door opened again to admit my physical therapist, a powerfully built young man who excelled at torture inflicted with a pleasant and bland smile. I groaned.

Within the next half an hour, my leg muscles were shaking and my back felt like it was on fire. Nothing wanted to work except my toes, but at least they provided a hopeful sign. If I could move them, which I could, I should be able to walk unaided within a few months.

My torturer tested the strength in my arms and hands, which had never failed even though I was confined to this hospital bed. I had tried to keep them flexible and strong, pushing my hands against each other and pulling up on the bar over my head the moment they said I safely could. With another bland smile he told me to wait a bit while he fetched a surprise from the hall.

I rolled my eyes; as if I were going anywhere while he was gone! But all my aggravation and fatigue vanished the second he returned, and most of my pain went with them. He brought me a wheelchair! True, half my team was now discharged, but Ken was still here, and now I would be able to see him!

With extreme care, the therapist showed me how to use the guard rails to lower myself from the bed to the chair. Sitting hurt my lower back, and he promised to work on that next, but, "I know how much you want to be free, this is the best we can do for now."

"No, no, it's fine," I gasped, willing the pain to recede. It didn't, so I resolved to ignore it. "Do I get to keep this?"

"As long as you're safe with it and get help returning to your bed," he told me. "Now, would you like a push?"

"Yes, please! I want to see Ken-kun!"

"Hidaka-san is not awake," he told me, "he won't know you're there."

"But he'll hear me! I want to talk to him."

The therapist bowed his head and wheeled me out of my room. Instead of feeling helpless, I felt strangely invigorated, as though I had just sprouted wings and taken flight.

We took an elevator two levels down, to the neurology unit. I felt the first real stirrings of panic in my chest. At least I'd been moved to a private room, for patients in recovery from difficult surgeries. They hadn't moved Ken.

My driver turned the chair around and entered the room backwards, pulling me in after him. When he completed the circle and I saw the bed, I wanted to get up and run away.

Ken looked as pale and slack-muscled as Aya's sister had looked. Tubes and wires connected him to drip bags and monitoring equipment. I found my gaze drawn to the little green blip of his heartbeat, plodding on with the calm regularity of an ox.

"I'm sorry, sir," the physical therapist murmured, "but I told you he wouldn't know you were here."

"Put me by his bed," I ordered, growing unaccountably angry. At his hesitation, I reached down and, unmindful of the pain, grabbed the wheels myself. The strain of wheeling myself along vanished within seconds as the therapist apologized and pushed the chair toward Ken's bedside.

I remembered how soothing it had been whenever Manx had held my hand, and now I took Ken's limp left hand in mine. The veins on the back were all bruised from needles; apparently the doctors had only recently switched the IV line to the other hand. His skin felt reassuringly warm.

"Oi, Ken-kun, it's me," I said, voice nearly breaking, "it's Omi-kun. I'm sorry I couldn't visit before, but I hurt my back and they wouldn't let me out of the bed." I snorted a laugh and added, "If Yohji-kun had said that, you'd say it was a cheap line."

No movement, no flicker of recognition. I didn't stop talking to him.

"When you're better, you and I have to go visit Yohji. He's moving back into his babe-trap. I know, it's not the best neighborhood, but he really wanted to go there. He…he doesn't want to be Weiß anymore." I took a deep breath; it came out as a heavy sigh. "Aya…Ran…wants to reinstate the team. So you have to wake up soon, we're not balanced without you." _Because I have to leave too, and Ran will need someone he knows to be there with him._

I must have stayed there over an hour, just talking until my voice gave out and the pain in my back turned into numbness. I thanked my therapist for allowing me the time, then let him wheel me back to my room.

Tomorrow was another day, and I would visit my friend until he woke up and told me to stop.

**A/N:**

_sometimes you have no choice, sometimes you've got no voice to say… _

"Goodbye Is Forever" – Arcadia _So Red the Rose _

Revision to note from chapter one: I'm discovering that imposing an arbitrary order on the chapters is not allowing for the proper flow of the story. From here on out, the characters will appear in a more natural order when more than one is the focus of a chapter.

Omi Goodbye 

In my world, the boys of Weiß each have fairly distinct musical tastes, with the exception of Omi: he absorbs the music of his fellows, and has an excellent memory for music and movie quotes. Arcadia is both a Yohji band and a Ken band – Yohji is goth/new wave, Ken is old-fashioned punk. Movie and anime references will always have a strong connection with Ken; I've got those two watching all sorts of stuff together. (I reserve panty anime for Ken and Yohji's viewing pleasure.) Notice anyone missing?

**Review mailbag:**

_**Mistress Of Anime**_ – It's no accident that I have Omi and Schu seeing each other on the beach. They both need hugs big time. I'm glad you like the title thing, I was hoping they'd work. As for your question about Omi getting any action…I wish I could tell you, but it's integral to the plot. Don't worry, he's got friends to see him through (that is, if Ken wakes up…).

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Hey, if I can make you feel for Omi, then I'm doing something right. Oh, I think you'll like the Yohji angle re: Schuldig. It's hard as hell to write a scene by reversing the viewpoint, but I'm loving the results!

**_may_** – Schu seems to think Yohji is perfect, though I hear Crawford is a little more, ah, 'gifted', if you know what I mean. Good thing Schu isn't a size queen, ne?

And I see you understand Omi/Mamoru perfectly… Let's see what happens when he learns a little more about his family, shall we? It'll be a couple of chapters yet, but it's coming.

**_Shadowgirl_** – I'm glad you're intrigued. This story is taking an amazing amount of planning – it's making "Coming Home" look easy! I'm thinking it through to the point my roomie is starting to call me Ken-kun… (And, if I scared anyone with my first reply of the evening, of course Ken's going to wake up! He has to be there for Gluhen, right? Of course, that's eight years down the road…and Aya-chan did set a precedent for long naps in Weiss World…)


	5. 05

**5**

_Picking up the pieces, putting them away, something doesn't feel quite right…_

**Yohji - New **

"Tell me again why I'm doing this," I groaned, leaning against the cold tiled wall and regarding Manx with a mixture of hope and grief.

"You're starting a new life," Manx replied, tossing my own words right back at me. She stood there, arms folded across her bosom, her eyes as flinty as steel. "Picking up the pieces and going on. Or have you changed your mind?"

"No, I'm not changing my mind. I've given too much of my life to your cause as it is. I'd like to reclaim what's left of my soul, thank you all the same."

"Well, rest assured that you won't be bothered, Balinese. Or should I say, Kudou-san? It's unusual for someone to retire from the Weiß unit, but not unheard of. Go in peace." Her expression softened a little and she added, "I'll watch over them for you, for as long as I can, anyway."

"I'd appreciate that." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a book of matches. "I know this seems trite, but it's all I have at the moment." I'd already swiped a pen from the nurse's station; before I could write on the tiny square of paper, Manx stopped me.

"If that's your address, we already have it," she said with a little smile. "And I sincerely hope it wasn't intended for my use, Kudou."

"Heaven forbid," I replied, trying not to laugh. "God, woman, get over yourself!"

Manx chuckled, a thoroughly sexy sound that almost made me reconsider. "Seriously, we do have your address and phone number on file. I'll make sure he gets them for his personal use."

"Thanks, lady." The matchbook and pen went back into my pocket, then I stood there, gazing down the hallway. "Well, I guess this is it, then."

"I guess so. I've taken the liberty of having all your belongings shipped out to your apartment. I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head. "Nah, I don't mind. Simplifies things, really. Well." Hands still in my pockets, I shrugged, then turned toward the door. "When Ken wakes up, tell him I'm okay, will you?"

"I won't forget. Good luck, Kudou-san."

"Goodbye, Manx." Not looking back, I strode out the door and into my new life. I had to blink against the late spring sunshine; for a moment I debated going back indoors and seeing if they had any sunglasses at the gift shop. But no, if I went back into that hospital I'd end up sitting by Ken's bedside until he woke up, or Omi's until he smiled again, and by then my resolve would have shattered for good. Taking the painful light as my penance for a life in the darkness, I made my way to the bus stop.

The doctor had told me to lay off the smokes and the booze for a few more weeks, but I really didn't know if I could follow that. I'd gone too long already without a cigarette, and I knew that the moment I reached my apartment I'd find one and have at it. That is, if the place hadn't been ransacked in my absence. I hadn't been joking about that; it wasn't in a very nice neighborhood.

Well, if that had happened, my retirement money should take care of things. Kritiker had pretty well set me up for a couple of years of lean living, or one really good year if I wanted to blow it all at once.

Blood money.

I watched out the window as familiar streets came and went, places I had walked, places I had worked. Places I had killed. My reflection hung suspended between me and the rest of the world, a ghost to haunt my waking hours. At least the rest of the ghosts wouldn't have to be so lonely, na?

My feet followed old remembered pathways from the bus stop to my apartment building, pathways I had traveled alone and with unremembered companions too many times to count. Looking up, I sought out my window. The glass wasn't broken, so maybe that was a good sign.

It felt strange to be coming home to this place. My heart told me I should be living above a flower shop, with three other young men all sharing in the same secret world. But that world was gone, broken apart and fallen into the sea how many weeks ago?

I decided to enter through the garage, say hello to my baby before going up. The Seven was just as I'd left her, waiting patiently for my return. My hand brushed across her fender in greeting. If I had died on that mission, I wonder what would have become of her? _Ah, let's not go there, Yohji…_

As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I had to pause twice to catch my breath. _Damn. I hate being sick._ Well, now I'd do this my way. To hell with pills and needles and crap. Good home-cooked noodles and lots of garlic, that was the answer. "Oh, man!" I groaned, realizing that I hadn't been here in over a month – the refrigerator! Oh hell, this was going to be nasty!

By habit, I checked the door. Of course, since Kritiker had delivered my stuff here while I was in hospital, the matchstick wasn't where I'd tucked it in the gap above the deadbolt. There was, however, a long russet hair running from the keyhole to a splinter on the doorframe. I smiled to myself. _Good old Manx._ I reached for the doorknob, then paused.

Manx wasn't the only redhead I knew, nor the only one with reason to stop by my apartment. And I wasn't including Aya – wrong kind of red. I regarded the nearly half-meter strand again. No lingering perfume or cologne; either there was none, or it had been here that long. But it was curly, and just a hint darker.

"Baka," I growled at myself, then shoved the key in the lock. There was no reason to think he'd seek me out to finish his work, even if he had, by some weird miracle, survived. Then again, Weiß had survived…

I switched on the light and leaned against the door, letting it click shut with a satisfying little "ping". "You're not Weiß anymore," I told myself, "there is no way a former target will come looking for you now. They wouldn't waste their time." _But…he was never a target…_

Shaking off the lingering paranoia, I reminded myself that only a friend would bother to leave such a calling card as a strand of hair to seal my door. That settled, I looked around at the place I would now call home, instead of just a place I visited from time to time.

It was clean and smelled vaguely of lemon oil. Someone had been in here, dusting and keeping the place looking lived-in. No wonder it hadn't been burgled or vandalized. Maybe that same kind soul had salvaged my kitchen. I gathered my courage and went in to check.

Dishes had been used and washed, and waited now to be put back in their proper places. I took a deep breath and opened the fridge.

Fresh new food gleamed through shiny packaging, all seemingly purchased in the past few days. I felt myself smile, though my vision grew cloudy. I closed the door and stood there, propping myself up against the counter while tears slid down my face. Shaking my head, I tried to banish this unwelcome flood, but to no avail.

The guys had taken care of me like this, and before them… And now, this was probably the last time I'd come home to someplace that actually felt like home, with everything clean and in its place, and a stocked fridge, and the faintly lingering sense of another human being sharing the same space. "Hell, Kudou, it's just some goddamn groceries!" I snarled. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand; that hand was shaking.

I forced myself to get moving. If I didn't, I never would. I tugged the fridge open again and pulled out a carton of orange juice. I didn't see any fresh garlic; I'd have to go shopping tomorrow.

Drinking from the carton, I surveyed the rest of my apartment. Even the windows had been cleaned. I couldn't tell if my mystery housekeeper had slept in my bed; if they did, they sure left it neater than I ever did.

Along the wall under my bedroom window sat a half-dozen packing boxes. I took another swig of juice, then decided to look for a cigarette before opening any of them. Back into the living room I went, aiming for the low table that served as either a traditional dining table or a gaijin coffee table, depending on my guests' preferences.

Sudden paranoia swept over me, and instead of going for a cigarette I opened the little drawer on the side nearest the kitchen. I didn't know what a Kritiker agent would do if they found my stash, and I didn't really want to think about it. But no, if anyone knew they hadn't moved any of it. I sighed, relieved. If my emotional chaos was any indication, I'd need the help sleeping. I closed that drawer and moved around to the side facing the couch. The long shallow drawer usually held my cigarettes and ashtrays, and I was pleasantly surprised to find it not only unmolested but actually quite well stocked.

On top of the cigarette packs lay a folded piece of paper, sealed with candle wax and a scarlet lipstick kiss.

I opened a pack of smokes and set a heavy glass ashtray on the table, then lit up my first stick in nearly a month. Once the coughing subsided, I picked up the note and leaned back on the couch to read it.

"Hey, handsome, I hope you don't mind but I let myself in. I heard you were in hospital – hope it's not serious. I took your plants over to Momoe, she's better with them than I am. And there's fresh food in your kitchen, you can thank me later. I just can't stand to see a good man starve. Call me if you need anything. My door is still open for you but I can't hold out forever. Kisses, Erika."

"Good old Manx," I murmured, filling in the unwritten parts with ease. Reflexively I glanced over at the empty windowsill, grateful that Manx had salvaged the poor things. It would really have sucked to come home to a bunch of dead houseplants. Good thing I didn't keep fish.

I sucked on my cigarette and frowned at the note again. "My door is still open…but I can't hold out forever. Damn. They want me to come back." _How long will they give me, I wonder?_

More importantly, what would the price be if I chose not to return? Was I being naïve as all hell, here, thinking I could actually retire from Kritiker's lethal unit without a catch?

Was that why Ran had chosen to stay?

**Ran - Rosebud**

"Moshi moshi!…Ran? Is that you?"

I placed the handset back on the cradle, the soft click a weirdly reassuring sound. For a moment I wondered if I would ever allow myself to see my sister again, if I couldn't even bear to speak with her by phone.

Too many shadows lay between us now. It's true, what they say: you can't ever go home, especially when your destiny lay soaked in blood.

With a heavy heart I returned to my chair. The book I'd been reading had long since turned cold, its pages clutching the armrest like some weird little animal. I folded myself into the chair and stared out the window. My chest hurt when I sat like this, but I didn't really mind. Small price to pay, compared with some.

I shut my eyes and let my thoughts wander back four days, four days that had passed in a blur of no account. I had dressed in new clothes, the tags only cut off them that morning, and slung the ceremonial katana sheath across my back. Everything had been packed for me, the less personal items sent ahead to my new apartment, but the sword went where I went, always.

The hallways had nearly echoed as I forced myself to go to each of their rooms. I'd had no idea what I would say to them, and part of me had hoped they wouldn't be awake to see me go.

The disappointment I'd felt when that had proved the case surprised me.

I didn't bother going into Ken's room, or Yohji's, for that matter. Ken still needed a machine to tell visitors he was alive at all, and something about seeing Yohji in a hospital bed made my stomach hurt. I'd paused at each of their doors, peeked in the windows and whispered a prayer for the wounded before moving on.

My sister had already been released from hospital and moved to her own apartment, ready to follow her dreams now that she had awakened from them. But I still had one person to see, one link to a past almost too painful to bear.

The name on the door read "Takatori, Mamoru". All the breath had flown from my lips on seeing that card, and I had leaned against the wall beside the door for many moments, debating what to do.

In the end, I had fled like a coward, saying nothing to any of the men who had fought by my side, who had nearly died by my side.

Late spring sunlight glared through my eyelids. I swallowed down a choking sensation and forced myself to get up. Though I excelled at self-punishment, this was clearly getting me nowhere.

All Manx would tell me was that Weiß was sorely needed, but there weren't enough agents to fill the gaps in our ranks. Kritiker had been crippled by Esset, and now it struggled to rebuild itself just as we each struggled to regain our strength.

When the call comes, I intend to be ready.

I pushed the table and chair back toward the wall, stripped off my shirt, and took up my sword. With slow, deliberate movements, I began to practice, my shadow following at a safe distance. Pain threaded itself through every muscle; something in my middle howled at the movement, but I persisted. I had to get through this. It was the only way to mend my body, and salvage my soul.

It was all I had left.

**A/N:**

_Picking up the pieces, putting them away, something doesn't feel quite right…_

"Home By the Sea" – Genesis _Genesis _

**Yohji - New**

Rather self-explanatory, here. But…how can anyone embark on a new life with such a heavy heart?

**Ran - Rosebud**

Since Ran is a reader, I've given him an interesting title for his part of this chapter. In the film "Citizen Kane", Rosebud refers to something from a man's lost childhood, the one thing that is kept safe above all else and seems to embody the man's very soul. That – with the fact that Ran's image flower is the rose – leads me to wonder: is Aya-chan his Rosebud?

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – You know, this really didn't start out as an Omi-centric fic… But seriously, they'll each take turns being the central figure, with Omi and Yohji probably being more prominent for most of the story.

**_NightMaiden_** – Actually, making you cry is my entire goal. If you care when they're in pain, I've done my job as a storyteller.

**_Shadowgirl_** – As for the meaning behind the title…yes, it'll play into each of the characters' lives, but at its most basic, it came to me because throughout the original TV series, whenever there's something really bad and tragic, it's raining. Kind of like another show I'm fond of…

**_may _**– heh heh, yeah, I took all their measurements, baby! I might even try a silly ficlet about just that sometime later on…


	6. 06

**6**

_You want someone to tell you when you wake up in the morning it'll only be a dream.  
__(And I wish that I could tell you it'd only be a dream.)_

**Ken - John Valuk**

Hospitals suck.

First they stick you with all sorts of needles and tubes, stick things where they shouldn't stick anything, and they steal your clothes. Then, when you finally start to feel alive again, they bring you lunch.

I had no idea how long I'd been there. That was bad enough, but then they told me.

Was I in an accident? My motorcycle… Kase? No, that was…years ago.

Oh, man.

The neurosurgeon stopped by to chat, but I couldn't get past his nametag. A neurosurgeon? For me? This couldn't be good. Let's see, I couldn't remember what had happened to me, I could barely remember anything, my head ached, and I needed a specialist.

I didn't even know how I'd pay for this.

They'd brought me lunch, some bland generic hospital food that really didn't make me all that hungry, and then she came into my life. That made me laugh; it reminded me of…someone. Someone would say things like that, cheesy things, you know? Lines, like pickup lines. About a red-haired woman.

About her.

"So, you finally decided to wake up," she said to me, her voice the low warm kind of voice you'd want to hear on a dial-up porn line.

I couldn't take my eyes off her – she was wearing this tiny skirt that showed everything, and I mean everything! Her legs were long and she had on these little shoes with high heels and lacy cuff socks. And, though she looked so amazingly different from the girls I'd known, somehow she seemed way too familiar.

She stood by my bedside, smiling down with crimson lips. Suddenly I realized I had a very noticeable tent in my covers. I shifted my position and brought one leg up a little to hide it. Well, at least that was working, even if something else was seriously wrong.

"I see you're feeling better," she purred, and I felt myself blush. Damn, I couldn't figure out who she was! I had the feeling I shouldn't be getting all bothered over her, but I couldn't help it, and I couldn't do much to stop it, either.

"Yes, I am, thank you," I gasped. "But, please, do I know you?" _If not, I'd like to!_ I thought, again reminding myself of someone else I should remember.

She sighed, a sad little sound, and sat on the edge of the bed. "They said you couldn't remember," she murmured. "I wasn't sure how deep that went."

"I'm sorry." I reached out and touched her hand, feeling totally like a lame bastard. "I should know you, shouldn't I? I don't mean to hurt you, I didn't forget on purpose."

Her slender hands wrapped around mine as she shook her head. "We didn't know each other like that, Hidaka. We…worked together."

I tried to think, tried to unscramble the mess in my head. Flowers? Cats? "I'm so confused," I groaned, wishing we were back at the vaguely flirty talk again. This heavy stuff was getting to me. "Where do I work?"

"It's a long story," she said, turning her eyes from me. "And I'm not the best one to tell it."

"Was there an accident?" An awful thought occurred to me, and I whispered, "Did someone die?"

Tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes. She reclaimed her hands to raise a tissue to her face, like she was trying not to lose it in front of me.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. Oh, hey, and I don't even know your name!" I blurted, now feeling totally rotten.

"Manx desu," she whispered, not looking at me.

Manx? Cats…

"What was I called?" I asked, having the weird feeling that I had a cat name too. "My name is Hidaka Ken, but what was I called, Manx-san?"

"Siberian." She glanced at me and smiled a little. "A solid, athletic animal with a friendly temperament and –" she paused, thinking, then said, "large, strong paws."

Paws? What the hell?

Bombay…?

"There were others," I breathed, not sure how I knew this but knowing it without any doubts. "Manx-san, what happened?"

"There was an…incident," she said. "You were all injured. Two of your fellows have already been released from hospital. You and one other are still here for a while yet."

"Were there just the four? Did anyone die?" I couldn't let this alone. I had to know.

"No, just the four."

I relaxed back against the thin pillow, more tired than I'd expected. She was wearing me out and we weren't even naked. I smiled at the thought, and the name Yohji drifted up in my mind. Yes, the guy with the lines.

Line…? A wire…

"I'll let you sleep," she said, rising. For one moment I almost caught sight of panties under that tiny skirt. Then my eyes focused on a tiny gun worn high up on her inner thigh, barely concealed in a velvet garter. Manx… Then she was gone, and I was left alone with my thoughts.

Damn, if I could just get my brain to work! Guess it got broken or something. That incident she mentioned – what the hell was that?

I reached up and touched the bandages on my head. They were loose, like they were just there to catch drippings. That idea made my stomach turn. I must have taken a skull fracture or something. That would explain a lot, except of course just how I'd gotten the damn thing.

_I'm lucky to be alive._

"John Valuk is dead," I mumbled to an empty room. "He fell on his head." How could I remember a stupid movie when I couldn't even remember my own goddamn life?

**Manx - Widow**

_God, I can't do this anymore._

I fled to the first private refuge I could find. The ladies' room was empty; I locked the door behind me and leaned against it.

Each one was more painful than the last. First Ran, determined to rebuild the team but without any target to pursue. He doesn't remember how to live without Weiß. Without the killing.

Then Yohji, just as determined to turn his back on the past and strike out alone. He'd been a wreck when we'd brought him into the team. How well would he evade his ghosts this time?

Now Ken. He didn't even remember Weiß, or Kritiker, or any of it. It might come back to him, but I doubted he would ever come back to Kritiker. He'd be a fool if he did. But would he know how to live a life without it?

I listened to my breathing echo off the tile, a harsh and vulnerable sound, a sound I'd sworn I'd never make.

I sounded like a victim.

With slow determination I got control of my breathing, forcing it to slow down and become quiet. I knew all too well that caring about the field agents compromised my own effectiveness.

I wasn't sure it mattered anymore. Weiß did not exist, Ran's delusions aside. Kritiker barely existed at all, thanks to Esset and our own naivite. We hadn't understood what we were up against, and it damn near destroyed us.

There was one person who could turn this around. One person who could lead Kritiker, rebuild it, help it stand against the covert might of Esset.

Though I don't often cry, I felt the traitorous tears well up again, in spite of my resolve. I dreaded what I had to do; I resented it so much I just wanted to turn and walk away. This wasn't right, we had no right to ask this of him. Of any of them. They had given so much already.

But Kritiker won't let me leave until it's done.

I moved away from the door and strode slowly toward the sinks. My hands were steady as I neatened my hair and makeup, becoming other than a victim, other than a visible wreck. I would not wear my heart on my sleeve; I couldn't afford to.

But it was getting so much harder to follow orders.

I've lost one man I loved to the post of Persia. Now I had to face another sacrifice, the boy I'd raised as my own. The boy who was Takatori Shuichi's only heir.

Heir to the throne of the empire that was Kritiker.

**Omi - Ōjisama**

"Hello, Manx." I smiled up at her, though I was in a lot of pain right then. I'd just gotten back from physical therapy, and my back hadn't forgiven me yet. I started to move my wheelchair to meet her, but she waved and came toward me herself.

She seated herself, then said, "I'll cut right to the chase. Kritiker needs you."

"I'll do it."

"I haven't even told you yet."

"You don't have to." I moved my wheelchair a little closer to the window and looked out. Summer birds flew by, their freedom an illusion in the envious hearts of men. "I can't function in the field, I know too much to be allowed to leave, and I'm the only one who can run the operation the way ojisan did." My heart had no illusions. Not anymore. "You need me to become Persia."

"More than that, I'm afraid," Manx said.

The tone of her voice made me turn to look at her. Her eyes were steely as she stated, "There are several levels of command that have been compromised. It's not just Project Weiß: we need you to rebuild Kritiker."

I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. This wasn't quite what I'd expected to hear. While I let her words sink in, Manx continued, a litany of disaster.

"The American Projects are in chaos. They lost their command level and several teams. In Asia, the only Project still viable is the Crashers, though command is gone. We've lost all contact with the European units. It's as though Esset knew where we were."

…_as though they knew where we were…_

My gaze drifted to the little box on my nightstand, and my thoughts fell to the fine gold chain inside it. Something… Something about Schwarz almost made sense. The way they seemed to know what was going to happen, what we were thinking… Then several things started falling into place, details which built a most intriguing picture.

The head of Esset was dead before Weiß ever reached the tower.

Schwarz had betrayed their master, and now were in hiding. Or dead; I had no reason to think that they could succeed where our own teams had failed.

Then again, Kritiker had not known it was the prey; the red-haired Schwarz clearly knew the consequences of his team's actions. The owner of that gold chain did not want to be found.

I was the only one who knew he was alive that day.

They say 'an enemy of my enemy is my friend'. At the moment, it was the only hope I had.

"When can I leave this hospital?" I asked, my voice surprisingly calm.

Manx glanced at her watch, then smiled. "I'll pick you up tomorrow."

The door opened, and my physical therapist came in. Manx excused herself and slipped out the door before it finished swinging shut.

"Gomen, I don't mean to interrupt," he said, "but you wanted me to tell you as soon as I heard. Your friend. He's awake."

* * *

**A/N:**

_You want someone to tell you when you wake up in the morning it'll only be a dream._

_(And I wish that I could tell you it'd only be a dream.)_

"Out Of Control" – Oingo Boingo _Best O'Boingo_

**Ken - John Valuk**

The title and later movie quote are from "Buckaroo Banzai, Adventures Across the 8th Dimension", a quirkly little SF classic. It's the kind of movie he'd watch with Omi, back in the quiet times between assignments. Of course, if he's Valuk, that would make Omi John Parker…

**Manx - Widow**

Yes, she loved Shuichi. I suspect she never had the time to grieve, not properly, and so carries a lot of unresolved pain. It's this pain that colors her actions. In her position with Kritiker, she has seen too much, and it never seems to stop.

**Omi - Ōjisama**

And if it looks to you like Manx had this conversation timed out so she didn't have to be the one to get Omi's hopes up over Ken…you'd be right.

_ojisan_ – uncle

_Ōjisama_ – prince

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Mistress Of Anime – _**Actually, I'm ignoring the radio dramas in all my fics – they scare me too. I'm going off the TV series only (Kapitel and Gluhen), because they're less weird than the other stuff out there. So, in my world, Omi's timeline is going to be a little different.

Very good perception on the masks. You're right – they are cracking.

**_Shadowgirl – _**Funny thing, rain. It can be soothing, or it can be extremely depressing. Hakkai and Sanzo (Saiyuki) tend to get it bad, when it rains. You're right, it does seem to be some kind of anime law, doesn't it?

As for Erika, I'm not sure where I picked that up, whether it's canon, fanon, or rumored, but it's the kind of alias I could see her using. It's vaguely continental and a little sexy.


	7. 07

**7**

_I can remember a place I used to go. Chrysanthemums of white, they seemed so beautiful._

**Ken - Friend**

My door opened again, only this time instead of a red-haired babe my visitor was a guy in a wheelchair. He seemed young, younger than me at any rate, and the fact that he couldn't walk seemed very, very wrong. I felt myself frowning as I tried to figure out who he was.

"Ken-kun! They told me you were awake," he blurted, sounding cheery-to-slightly-despairing. He rolled toward me, pushing the wheels with strong arms that made me reconsider his apparent age. Young, but obviously not a kid.

I sat up a little more and offered him a crooked smile. It felt like my right eye was squinting, but that happened from time to time. I figured it only made me look more roguish, which might not be a bad thing. "Yeah, though I wish I'd been dreaming about the hospital part of it."

He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling up at the corners. Damn, he looked like he was about to cry in spite of the smile. This wasn't my day! I don't think I like to make people upset like that, and I'd already managed to do it twice.

"Hey, what happened to you?" I asked, hoping to get him talking about something other than me. Then I realized that I didn't know if he belonged in a wheelchair or not, though I had this nagging feeling that he didn't.

"I hurt my back," he said softly. "It's not so bad now. I'm in physical therapy. They say I'll be walking again in no time." Those blue eyes misted over a little more as he added, "In fact, they're letting me out of hospital tomorrow. I had to see you before I left, Ken-kun. I'll be back to visit, I promise."

I reached for his hand, wanting to give him some kind of reassurance. My own hand had no strength in it, and it shook a little, but I took hold of his fingers and squeezed as best I could. "Hey, it's okay," I told him. "I still need to mend up some. I'll be here when you come back, right?"

His voice trembled as he asked, "Ken-kun, do you know who I am?"

I looked down, then shook my head. I couldn't bear to look at him when I said, "I'm sorry. I wish I did. You seem so familiar. And I know you don't belong in a wheelchair. You belong…on a scooter, a pink scooter of all the stupid…" I looked up then, in time to see his expression change from sorrow to startled laughter. "What? You really have a pink scooter?"

"Yes, it's for deliveries. From the flower shop," he told me, his tone hopeful now.

"Flower shop. Manx-san said something about that."

"Manx-san?" he blurted. "She was here?" His eyes grew dark, his scowl making him seem older than he really was. Or, older than he'd seemed at first, anyway.

"Well, yes," I murmured, feeling very awkward. Oh, man, I had no idea how the two of them knew each other, or what he must be thinking right now! "Hey, look, she just wanted to check on me." Sudden inspiration hit and I added, "I didn't know who she was, either. She told me her name, and that I'd worked in a flower shop. She…she called me 'Siberian'."

My visitor chewed on this for a moment, then said, "Bombay. I was Bombay. My name is Tsukiyono Omi. You called me Omi-kun."

Bombay. A crossbow, the kind a Ninja would use…and a pink scooter.

Omi. Pinned to the wall by some unseen force as a madman tried to kill me.

Omi-kun. Throwing himself at my attacker with no weapon other than his own momentum.

"You saved my life," I whispered, gripping his hand tighter. "I remember – you saved my life! Oh, god, man! What the hell happened?"

Omi sagged a little, as if all his strength had gone into willing me to remember him. "It's a long story, Ken-kun. And your doctor would probably hurt me if I started telling it right now. I promise, whatever you don't remember I'll fill in for you, as soon as your doctor says you're ready."

"And when will that be?" I asked, annoyed that everyone seemed to know more about my condition than I did.

"When you're able to do this again, Ken-kun." He squeezed my hand and smiled. "When you get everything working and they let you walk out of here on your own two big feet, then I promise I'll tell you everything."

**Omi -Fated**

That vaguely blank look on Ken's face told me he didn't recognize me way before I asked him. Still, hearing his reply had hurt in a way I hadn't expected. He didn't want to hurt me, and he knew he couldn't lie. Good old Ken. At least that hadn't changed.

When he said he'd seen Manx, I knew what that meant. She hadn't told me he was awake because she wasn't visiting me as a concerned friend, but as a procurer for Kritiker. She was distancing herself from me; I was about to be sacrificed to the cause. In exchange for my cooperation, I was allowed this visit with Ken-kun.

It was a bittersweet moment when he remembered me. I couldn't tell him that the next time he saw me I wouldn't be Omi anymore.

I would be Persia.

* * *

**A/N:**

_I can remember a place I used to go. Chrysanthemums of white, they seemed so beautiful._

"The Great Disappointment" – AFI _Sing the Sorrow _

I had intended to keep the song references timely, and only use things that existed at the time of the chapter, but I can't shake this song from my head…

**Ken - Friend**

Though he doesn't remember much, he knows Omi is his friend. Some things are stronger than memory, a point that will prove interesting for another when we get a bit further along in the story.

**Omi - Fated**

"The Great Disappointment" is his song. It may as well have been written for him.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Kit_** – Wow, sounds like you've had an intense day, then! Yes, right now the chapters are short – the Weiß guys are still trying to get their lives together, and still trying to make sense of everything that's happened. As the characters get more stability, so will the story. (Its structure is a reflection of their mental states.) And, it's so much easier for me to write Schuldig than just about anyone else; I like him as a narrator, too. That may be why it takes me longer to get this story just the way I want it. But never fear – this tale, too, will be told.

**_Lestat_** – Thank you.

**_May_** – Omi is very honor-driven, and, though it hurts, he'll take on the mantle of Takatori Mamoru because it's the only right thing left to do.

**_ITSAME_** – Thank you! I love writing Ken; he's often so overlooked in fics, but to me his is one of the most honest voices.

**_Mistress of Anime_** – You understand my Manx! Hugs to you!

My black tortoiseshell has the same birthday as Omi. She's one-and-a-quarter.

And, LOL! I'm not functional before 9, myself. And that's pushing it.

**_Star Princess Meesa_** – Oh, I love the outtakes! That one was priceless. And the whole Jerry Lewis/Koala Man and Frank Sinatra/Masafumi business… cryin'

**_Shadowgirl_** – Omi's been growing up too fast all along, it's just now he doesn't have his "big brothers" (Ken and Yohji) to shadow him. He's all alone, standing in a big hot spotlight.

**_NightMaiden_** – You're so right, the tower changed everything. Remember, I'm disregarding the explanations and character development in the drama cd's, so you're getting my take on how they ended up as they did in Gluhen. It's not a pretty ride, but at least it should make sense.


	8. 08

**8**

_dare ni mo tomeru koto wa dekinai futari dake ni yurusareta wakare no namida wa  
kurikaesu ayamachi o koko de owarasu tame no kako no yakusoku  
__taemanaku afuredasu yokubou wa mitasarenai  
honno sukoshi no aida de ii..., hito no sugata ni modoritai_

No one could stop them, the tears only we could forgive at our parting  
The past promise we made to stop the mistakes from repeating over again  
I was unfulfilled by the constantly overflowing passions  
If only just for a little while..., I want to return to human form

"Lust For Blood" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Omi - Birthright**

_I don't know what I was expecting._

The young aide wheeled me into the local Kritiker offices, and everyone stood to greet me. They clapped their hands together and bowed, then took turns welcoming me and offering me refreshments. The whole thing looked like some low-key office party, which I supposed was the whole point.

"We're so glad you're back."

"Let us know if you need anything."

"It's an honor to work with you, Persia-san."

Persia-san. _It's already over._

I smiled and waved, and allowed Manx to relieve my original wheelchair pilot. She aimed for an elevator, deftly leaving the milling aides and secretaries behind. As the door closed behind us, I sagged back in the seat and let out a rough sigh. "Some homecoming," I mumbled, not wanting to seem ungrateful but very unsettled by it all.

"They've been waiting for a leader for several months now," Manx explained. "They've been waiting for you. Shuichi had already designated you as his replacement long ago."

"Do you really think I'm ready for this, Manx? I mean, I can't even walk yet." I watched the floor indicators flash on and off. "What do they expect of me?"

"Just that you'll do your job," Manx replied, "and that you'll be brilliant at it."

"What exactly does that entail?" I asked, getting a little annoyed at her vague answers.

As the elevator doors hissed apart, Manx said, "You are now the head of Kritiker. Not just the Japanese offices – the entire organization. I wasn't joking when I said you'd have to rebuild. We're hurting." She wheeled my chair toward a polished wood door. A tiny light beside the door winked from red to green. The lock clicked softly open.

Muted lights came on as we entered, revealing a stark office with a large multi-station desk, two monitors, and recording equipment. A black file cabinet hunched in the far corner. Manx pulled the leather chair away from the desk to make room, and I wheeled myself closer for a look.

Below the desk it was even more interesting. Three hard drives, two large storage units, and enough cables to electrify India. His protégé, was I? No wonder he'd aimed me at computers.

Manx handed me a CD-ROM, and I put it into the drive.

The monitors flickered to life as the disc spun, showing me a grainy image of the back of an office chair, a man's head just visible over the top. I glanced over at the chair Manx had moved, half expecting to see it occupied.

Persia's filtered voice spoke out from the desktop. "I'm sorry you have to find out like this. I was hoping you would have a little more time, or that I would have more time. These discs are updated every four months, so you are hearing my words from within four months of my death."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I resisted the urge to look back at the chair. I felt for all the world as though a ghost stood by my side.

"Provisions have been made to supply you with a knowledgeable staff, and able assistants. The Japanese division of Kritiker is in your hands, Omi. Perhaps one day you will aspire to lead the entire organization. If you choose that path, know that I have always believed in you."

"Oh, Uncle," I whispered, the tears welling up in my eyes again. "If only you knew."

"There are several active units within Kritiker-Japan. This disc holds basic information on their structure, but not their composition nor assignments. There will be many layers of security for you to deal with for the more in-depth information. It is a sad reality that we cannot be too careful, and any more specific information in the wrong hands would be disastrous."

The voice went on, mentioning the different units but not telling me anything useful about them. I raised my voice over the narrative and asked, "Manx, can you get me anything more, well, relevant?"

"It's already been arranged. Have you seen enough here for today?"

I stopped the video and removed the disc. "Yes, I've seen enough."

"This will be your office, unless you'd prefer another one," Manx told me as she came around the desk and I unlocked my wheels. "You have an apartment here, too. It's downstairs, on the fourth floor. I've already stocked your refrigerator, and your personal effects have been moved in."

"Thank you, Manx," I whispered, not feeling very thankful at all. This was a nightmare, one long, cold nightmare, and I couldn't wake up. The team was gone, scattered, and I was expected to just turn away and focus on some "greater good". I didn't even know why Kritiker existed, and everyone presumed that I would be happy to serve it.

When we reached my new home, I looked around at all the empty space and thought of Ken, lying in the hospital bed, unable to remember. Then I thought of Yohji, acting like nothing bothered him as he let himself be hurried out of the hospital.

Then I thought of Aya.

"Omi? Are you all right?" Manx looked genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine," I whispered, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. "Just didn't expect it to feel so empty, that's all."

**Ran - Hunter**

The leather felt cold against my skin, but it warmed quickly. I watched myself in the mirror as I dressed. Every scar glowed.

I had lost some weight since being in the hospital, but I'd worked hard to keep my muscles strong. Still, my gear didn't fit quite right anymore. I tightened the straps at the waist of my pants; the leather creaked in surprise. The reinforced shirt had no adjusting buckles. I would have to make do with a poor fit tonight.

With deep respect, I took up my katana, strapping the sheath to my hip. The weight of the sword was a welcome thing. It had been too long.

Manx's instructions had been plain, the target an easy enough one for a single hunter. He was a small-time embezzler with ties to a white slavery ring. Small fish, with big friends. A message had to be sent. Though the team was dissolved and Kritiker in shambles, our work had to continue. Better to do this on orders than go it alone, again.

I sighed, trying to recall the passion that had driven me into Kritiker, and nearly wrecked my first assignment. I'd been so much younger then, with so many horrors yet to see. It had all been about honor, and revenge.

Now, it was only a job.

A necessary job, one that I was very well suited for, but the fire in my heart had gone out. I would deal with this petty criminal tonight, not for the glory but for the cash.

No – not even that. To kill for money would make me an assassin, a mercenary. The money didn't matter: I didn't need it anymore.

I would do this…for the blood. Blood was real. Humans bleed. Those cult elders had bled, no matter how bizarre they had seemed.

Whether by bleeding or shedding the blood of another, I would affirm my humanity.

For, once blood is spilt, it, too, becomes cold.

* * *

**A/N:**

_dare ni mo tomeru koto wa dekinai futari dake ni yurusareta wakare no namida wa  
kurikaesu ayamachi o koko de owarasu tame no kako no yakusoku _

_taemanaku afuredasu yokubou wa mitasarenai  
honno sukoshi no aida de ii..., hito no sugata ni modoritai _

No one could stop them, the tears only we could forgive at our parting  
The past promise we made to stop the mistakes from repeating over again

I was unfulfilled by the constantly overflowing passions  
If only just for a little while..., I want to return to human form

"Lust For Blood" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Omi Birthright **

Omi is confronted with the reality of Persia, a role he must now play in a very high-stakes game. The mistakes of the past loom large.

**Ran Hunter **

Cleansing oneself in the blood of the unjust is an ancient ritual. But does the world have enough blood to cleanse the sins of the White?

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_ITSAME_** – You're so right about the brain being mysterious. Memories, personality, sense of self – all those things we take for granted can be snuffed out or altered in the blink of an eye…

**_Kit_** – Thank you. Oh, and chapter length depends solely on the content for me – remember, it's not about the size, it's what you do with it.

**_May_** – Ken and Omi have perhaps the greatest amount of change ahead of them. For Ran and Yohji, it's all about walking old familiar pathways again. Somehow, I suspect each will envy the lot of the others…

**_Shadowgirl_** – My turn to quote! "A sea of people are watching and you don't know whether they are friend or foe." Damn, that's perfect. Poetic spotlights, indeed.

By the way, I love writing Ken dialogue. He's just so, well, guileless. (He's on the cusp of Sagittarius, which makes him kind of blunt.)

**_NightMaiden_** – "Out there" is a kind understatement, IMHO. The whole Grampa Takatori thing…and the "other Weiß"…yeeks!

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – It's funny, even disregarding the drama cd's, and I still manage to get Omi right.

Yes, you still understand my Manx. (hands Ezri a cookie)


	9. 09

**9**

_I never, never wanted this. I always wanted to believe, but from the start I'd been deceived._

**Omi - Takatori**

The apartment had been arranged with a wheelchair in mind, which was convenient if a little annoying. I wanted nothing more than to be rid of the thing; the reminders were already starting to bother me.

At least I didn't need help going through things. Files and discs and tapes had all been arranged within reach, here as well as in the office. It was hard enough dealing with them alone. I wasn't sure I could handle company.

The crimes of my family went deeper than I'd suspected. So much darkness, so much sin. Brother against brother for three generations, finally degrading to father against son. And woven through it all – the ubiquitous presence of Kritiker.

It looked like, in the beginning, Kritiker had existed to offset organized crime. Fair enough. But it, too, was a form of absolute power, and it corrupted its handlers one by one. The rift within the family grew, and apparently reached a splitting point with my father. Anger became rage, and the organization that had been a shield for the family's indiscretions became a watchdog against one man's existence.

Kritiker had become dirty. The knights were no better than hunters now.

Shuichi and Reiji. The oldest drama in Japan. Two brothers, locked in a dance of hatred, not caring that innocent lives were swept away in their madness.

_I wish Ken were here. He'd find a way to make me smile in spite of this._

I ran my fingertips over the rough wood box for the hundredth time since Manx had given it to me. Curiosity and repulsion had kept that box shut for three days before curiosity had won, and once satisfied I had shut it away again, the curiosity and the box, until today. I've been thinking about a lot of things lately, and wishing the decisions weren't mine to make. But they are, and I will try to be wise. No matter how much it hurts.

I whispered a little prayer as I had done each time I'd opened this box before, and likely always would. There was some superstitious tremor in my hands, as though I were defiling a grave, as though the things inside this box held the souls of their owners. Still, no matter how silly it seemed in daylight, by night I would look inside, the prayers soft on my tongue.

Memory played fool with me, taunting me with half-seen truths and half-imagined possibilities. Still, I couldn't get past the cold chill that seemed to linger about the things in this box. Things that, perhaps, should have been buried with the dead. I thought about the golden necktie-chain, and how its owner was probably still alive. But this was different: I knew these men were dead.

That didn't do anything for my fear of the ghosts.

I picked up the narrow reading glasses, the lenses smudged with oil and soot. They had been in Reiji's pocket the night he had died. The night Aya had taken his revenge.

Taken revenge and removed his own reason for living.

The earpieces were greasy, revolting and yet so very humble. This man who had refused my ransom and set in motion his own destruction at the hands of Weiß – his eyes were weak. He had been nearsighted. Quite a fitting weakness, really – shortsightedness.

An ugly question hovered around my heart, a question I feared more than most. He'd had the money; why hadn't he paid the ransom?

No, that wasn't the question. What I really wanted to know was how did Uncle know where to find me, and why did he bother? Just to spite his brother? To turn me into a weapon in his own private war?

All that was irrelevant now. Both were dead, and I was left to sort through their personal effects as their sole heir.

I set the glasses back inside the box, folding them as neatly as I'd found them, then picked up the worn and battered diary. The paper smelled funny, as if it had been set down too close to a chemical fire. I'd tried to read it once before, but it was so disjointed it was nearly impossible to decipher.

This time I merely let the book fall open as it would. Again, Masafumi had been rambling about the fountain of youth and undying cells. I'd always thought that undying cells were a cancer, something that usurps the natural order of life and growth and turns it into a forced march toward an early death. But my mad brother had thought otherwise, to the point of really believing it was science's duty to free mankind from its own cellular prison.

If he hadn't been experimenting on unwilling subjects, and doing a hundred other unethical things besides, would he still have been targeted by Kritiker? Or was it because he was the son of Reiji?

If Reiji hadn't abandoned me, would I have been sacrificed to bring him pain?

Already I knew the answer would have been yes. I placed the diary back in the box, careful not to jostle the eyeglasses. I bypassed the little diamond-studded wristwatch, ignoring the pang in my heart as I did so. She had deserved so much more than she had gotten, but in a way it was almost a mercy that she had died never knowing her father's true nature.

My fingers touched on the items I'd been looking for, and I brought them into the light. Then, not really sure I'd planned to do this, I shut the box and set it aside. These coins would stay with me, for luck if nothing else. Though they had brought their first owner damn little of that.

Three coins, worn about the edges, the gold dusty looking from years of fingerprints, years of trust. Either Hirofumi had disregarded them or forgotten to ask; it was hard for me to believe that such a cared-for oracle could play him so false.

My breath hitched a little and I shook my head in pity. _You were used badly, my brother. _I shut my eyes and again saw his car hurtling toward me, his face a rictus of anguish and despair. He had been pushed to the edge and over, and there had been only one way for that to end, for either of us.

But now, with all the knowledge of Persia at my fingertips, I felt like a common murderer. Worse, like a cheap conspirator with no regard for the lives destroyed along the way.

With a bitter smile I reminded myself that I probably didn't have _all_ the knowledge of Persia; that man would have taken some of it to the grave, for certain. Still, what I had learned was chilling.

Hirofumi had been destroyed many years before I had ever taken his life. He'd gotten caught between Kritiker and Reiji's ambition, and like so many before and since, he had been crushed by it.

He and I were much alike. I took a deep breath and regarded the I Ching coins again. I wondered what it must have been like for him, a young man under the thumb of someone like Reiji. And when he had managed to get away from him for a while, to attend university in Europe, he had become a pawn in the war between the brothers Takatori.

I'd never thought much about the other units within Kritiker. Not that we were told much, but we knew they were out there. Now I knew, and it left my mouth sour.

The Crashers were a crack team of infiltrators and information thieves. Their purpose was to blackmail and generally disable a target by threat of disclosure. Typically, they could shut down an illegal operation before it ever got out of hand, before it ever would require a killing team like Weiß.

They had been sent to shut down Takatori Reiji's political career. Kritiker had learned that one of Reiji's sons preferred men, and in that particular season such a thing was still a source of shame. Shuichi had set the Crashers on Hirofumi, gathered incriminating letters and then threatened his father with a scandal. It had worked – they had slowed Reiji's ambitions for a few years, at least.

It didn't matter that they had destroyed an innocent man's life.

_Damn this._

It could have been me.

I dropped the coins on the table, intrigued by the patterns but not yet knowing how to read them.

Kritiker, instrument of hate.

Gold coins.

Gold chain.

I frowned, then scooped the coins up and wheeled into my bedroom. I opened the nightstand drawer and took out the small box with Schwarz' tie chain.

Gold.

Not white. Not black.

Durable. Gold endured.

If Schwarz and Weiß could both survive the sea, then I could certainly find a way to redeem my heritage.

_I will make Kritiker clean again._

_And…I will do it standing._

* * *

**A/N:**

_I never, never wanted this. I always wanted to believe, but from the start I'd been deceived._

"The Great Disappointment" – AFI _Sing the Sorrow_

**Omi - Takatori**

Knowledge is power. It can also be grief. But whether grief or power, it is still knowledge, and Omi now has more of it than he'd expected (and yet less than he might).

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_May_** – Fear not, he's on his way.

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Well said about Ran. He's one of my more blatantly tragic figures in this drama. Oh, the karmic debt he must have… (Yes, there I go again on the karma thing.)

And Omi needs all the love he can get, too. I guess the sad thing about him is that he can still be surprised, though this might also be his saving grace.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – What flavor syrup? I'm thinking a crème de menthe sort of thing myself.

**_Shadowgirl_** – Another really good commentary on Ran. What is it about him that is so engaging to so many? People understand his guilt and angst so well, almost in a "there but for the grace of God go I" kind of way.

And I really like your statement about the symbolism for Omi. It's said that the best symbols aren't deliberate, but merely leak out of the collective unconscious. I have a fairly leaky brain myself.


	10. 10

**10**

_kakaekirenai hodo no hanataba to  
nido to fureru koto no nai kuchibiru ni..._

**Yohji - Guilt**

I regarded the empty bottle with a mixture of sorrow and disgust. Damn thing shouldn't have run out so fast. Maybe I'd spilled some? But no, I never spill alcohol.

I let out a sigh that left me feeling drained, like the candleflame that flickered and guttered in the path of my breath. It's been three weeks, three damn weeks since I got out of hospital, and not a word from the others. Not that I'd really expected it, with Ken comatose and Omi in a wheelchair. I certainly didn't expect anything from Aya. But the reality of it burned.

And not that I could seek them out, either. I'd called the hospital once, and found out that Omi had been discharged. Other than that, they wouldn't tell me anything.

I couldn't bring myself to go back there. Something about hospitals just made me sick.

Late night melancholy gripped my mind, as it had always done since before I'd joined Weiß. I toyed with the candle, running my fingertips through the flame, dipping them in the molten wax. Weird how pain is circular, spiralling and dancing just out of reach. When it gets too far inside, it steals sleep, and it leads to one believing the most absurd of lies. Like the lie of alcohol. Thing was, I knew it was a lie, but I went along with it anyway. How far would it carry me? When would the hangovers be worse than the insomnia? Hell, I didn't know.

Nothing was worse than the nightmares.

My hand shook as I tilted the bottle against my lips, hoping against hope for one more swallow. The few drops burned my mouth, but did nothing for my fears. I knew what the night would hold, and I was in no hurry to greet it. One or the other, the ghost or the abyss. Either way, I would wake in a cold sweat, and curse the very sleep my body needed. Is it possible to become afraid of sleeping?

How long does it take to go mad from lack of it?

They say that if you're worried for your sanity you still have it. I took that as a good sign, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. Dreams were only dreams, and ghosts…

_What does a ghost taste like? I suspect it's rather like sake, sweet and hot and dry all at the same time. But she won't let me find out._

I lurched up from the sofa and made my way to the window. The night breeze dried the sweat on my skin, sweat I hadn't even noticed until the soft chill brought it to my attention. This wasn't good. The sake was wearing off, and I had no desire to sober up just yet. Then again, I knew that drinking alone was a dangerous thing, one that could lead to madness and beyond. The only remedy this night would be finding a nice, quiet public place to drink, and maybe avoid the side-trip into disaster. At least for a little while.

Driving was out of the question. Though I scoffed at my own safety lately, I would not endanger my beloved car like that. I changed clothes and pulled on some shoes, then remembered to blow out the candle. Wax poured over my hand, leaving a white-hot trail of sensation that, in turn, left a trail of white-hot memories. I smiled grimly at myself. No time for that. Hell, I didn't know if it would ever be time for that again. I was almost getting used to the celibacy.

Serendipity of the situation moved me to seal my door with a wax thumbprint, a fragile token that would crumble away should anyone enter my home while I was out. It occurred to me that this little paranoid affectation of mine was getting out of hand, but since it also served the purpose of cheap entertainment, I decided to let it slide a little longer. I didn't really expect someone to sneak into my apartment, but it amused me to think they might. _I could do with a little danger; the quiet is driving me buggy._

My feet skimmed over the sidewalk, and I realized I was still a little drunk. Well, then, this should be fairly cheap and easy. I wanted to stagger home and pass out with nothing on my mind but the coming hangover.

There was a sleazy little bar not too far from home, and I found myself at its door before I'd really decided to go there. It would have to do. I made my way to the bar and slouched onto a stool, from whence I proceeded to order enough whiskey to derange a regiment. I dispatched the first shot without tasting it.

To my left a shadowy form grew solid enough to smile at me, then faded, her eyes like the grin of that damn cat in the story. "Why won't you leave me alone?" I whispered, reaching for the second glass of an intended many. "She wasn't you, I would never have, you know I wouldn't."

It's funny how one rediscovers the same things over and over again, never really taking them to heart because they seem so ridiculous. Alcohol actually made the ghost clearer up to a point, before everything took on a distant, confused quality. By this time, my drinking companion seemed almost solid enough to touch, though I wouldn't have put much stock in my ability to carry through without falling over. Again I could see her laughing eyes, her kissable mouth, that ridiculous hat. If only I could decipher what she was trying to tell me.

"_Behind you, silly!"_

Trying not to be too obvious about it, I straightened and looked around.

A voice, not hers, echoed like a dream. "It's him! It's that guy!"

I almost recognized that voice; I keyed in on its origin and felt my mouth fall open in shock. Schwarz! My own personal nemesis! But, it couldn't be, he was dead, they had to be dead! Dear God, not another ghost…or, wait – he looked as surprised as I was…?

He was real, and he was coming this way. I watched, helpless in my current stupor. He seemed to dance through the crowd, as though he were made of air, and I wondered again if he might not be real. I glanced to my usual ghost only to find the chair empty, no confirmation to be had there.

When I looked back, the red-haired killer was sidling up to the bar, two glasses in hand. He slid onto the barstool only recently vacated by the spirit world, his purple silk shirt whispering as he moved. He seemed genuinely pleased as he purred, "Well, stranger. Fancy meeting you here."

"Likewise," I muttered, still not quite believing that this was really happening. But he seemed real enough, and the glass he held out to me sloshed reassuringly.

"Buy you a drink?" he quipped.

Was my arch-enemy flirting with me? I was too drunk to deal with this. I was on the edge of laughter; never had I been caught off guard so badly! "What is it?" I asked, stalling for time.

The red-head regarded the amber liquid a moment. "Something alcoholic, I suspect."

I took the drink from him. It smelled like bourbon.

He toasted with his glass and said, "Here's to breathing."

That did make me laugh, all things considered. What the hell, he didn't look like he was planning on killing me any time soon. "I'll drink to that." We touched the rims of our glasses together, then drank.

He seemed pleasantly surprised by his own drink, and I realized he had no idea what was in either glass. The thought made me smile. I watched him more out of curiosity than habit, though I was quite aware that, technically, he and I should be nowhere near each other. This was fraternizing, just as Aya had accused that other time.

But no, that had been a weird coincidence, not fraternizing, and now I wasn't Weiß anymore. I set the glass down and lit a cigarette, then called for another round. The red-head had expensive taste: he ordered Chivas Regal, a fairly pricy blended whiskey. I ordered my usual, something much less fancy that was rendered drinkable only by the addition of ice.

While we waited for the barman to return, my European counterpart produced a pack of smokes from his shirt pocket and a lighter from his jeans. Jeans? Hell, he was wearing tight black leather. Dressed to the left, from the look of it. I realized I was staring at his crotch and turned my attention to the dancing flame of his lighter. I'd never seen him in regular clothes before, only his signature suit and overcoat. This new look suited him. His brilliant hair contrasted with the violet silk in a way Aya had always wished he could pull off, but never managed to.

Suddenly I realized I didn't even know this guy's name. "So, what should I call you?"

He paused as though considering his answer, then whispered, "Schuldig," the foreign sound of it dripping effortlessly from his tongue. He offered no other name, and no indication if this was a family name, his given name, or some kind of nickname.

I knew better than to ask; I merely offered my own name in full, having nothing to hide. Then I smiled and added, "But I think you knew that."

He made a little bow and said, "Pleasure to meet you outside of work, then, Yohji."

Interesting – he called me by my given name, and not by accident. Very interesting. I looked at him more closely, for the first time seeing the man behind the mask. Words slipped out before I could stop them. "You have a nice smile."

"Flirt." He tossed back his drink, his wild mane spilling over his shoulders like lava down a mountainside.

I laughed and called for another round, then turned back to him and said, "No, I mean it. You really have a nice smile. It suits you."

His cheeks reddened and he ducked his head a little as he mumbled, "Thanks."

This was quite intriguing, one of our former foes getting all bashful over a little flattery. I couldn't resist baiting him a little, to see what he had on his mind. "So, what brings you here, Schwarz?" I asked with a mock glower.

"Same thing that brought you here, Weiß," Schuldig replied in a theatrically deep voice, replaying our first meeting in this little dive. "Cheap drinks."

"Damn right!" I drained my glass and called for another round, though my drinking companion seemed to have run out of steam already. Imagine that. If I'd known that back when it might have mattered, I could have just challenged their whole team to a drinking contest and that would have been the end of it.

This thought brought up a question I'd been trying not to think about, but I knew I'd have to ask for my own peace of mind. "You still in the same line of work?" He flinched a little, so I toasted the bar and announced, "Me, I'm retired. Nothing left to do." The last word came out on a cough, and brought a whole fleet of them behind it. I put my arm over my mouth and waited for the fit to subside. Damn, I hated when that happened!

"You all right?"

"Damn sea water," I gasped. "Just got over a nasty infection from swallowing it." I took a pull on my cigarette, welcoming the numbing smoke into my abused lungs. "How about you? You guys okay?"

"Yeah, we made it." He glanced around, then asked, "And you?"

Good question, I thought. We'd each survived, but Weiß the team… "We're alive. Not much more than that." My left hand clenched as I tried to fight down the grief that thinking about the team brought up in me lately.

A gentle warmth enfolded my fist. I looked up into a pair of amazingly blue eyes, almost teal, and dark with understanding. Schuldig opened his mouth as if to speak, then changed his mind.

"I really shouldn't tell you any more," I mumbled. Somehow it seemed an awfully long way from the railing of the bar to the floor; I groped for solid ground with my toes.

"It's all right," he said, his voice low and a little disappointed. "I probably shouldn't be talking to you at all."

That was weird; his mouth hadn't moved on that last comment. Or maybe I was drunker than I thought. Still, I couldn't just leave it there. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "See you around, then?"

He smiled and stood, purple silk rippling and flowing around him like an aura. "Of course you will. I like this place."

I started to leave when my knees gave way. Before I could lose my balance completely, Schuldig was at my side, propping me up. I held onto his shoulder gratefully. Getting home was going to be a challenge. "Um, did you drive?" I asked, almost hopeful.

He laughed softly. "Sorry, I walked."

So, he was staying close enough that he could walk? Interesting. I grinned at him and said, "Figures. I meet a hot redhead and he doesn't even have a car." _Hot? When had I decided he was hot?_

_Damn, I was drunk!_

As he guided me through the bar, I realized his graceful steps of before were nowhere to be seen: he was just about as smashed as I was.

Good thing he _hadn't_ driven.

* * *

**A/N:**

_kakaekirenai hodo no hanataba to  
nido to fureru koto no nai kuchibiru ni... _

So many bouquets of flowers that they cannot be held  
And the lips that I'll never touch again...

" Mind Forest" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Yohji- Guilt**

My Yohji is a very haunted man, in more ways than one. Is the ghost real, or a manifestation of madness? Or of guilt? To you and me, it doesn't really matter: he will treat the ghost as genuine, for that is his safest option, the one that allows him to salvage parts of his soul. It would be easier for Yohji if the dead offered condemnation or anger, but this sympathetic spirit baffles him no end. Asuka? Neu? That doesn't really matter, either, though I might add that I've been influenced by a fanfic about a falling star…

You'll notice that this chapter breaks at a different point than the same sequence in "Coming Home". Time is relative, even more so when you're not quite on solid ground. Schuldig and Yohji are not equally drunk, and their personal timelines aren't synchronized. Besides, I think it took all of Yotan's strength to get up those damn slippery, wobbly stairs.

Side note:

"Good thing he _hadn't_ driven." – If Schuldig and Yohji are so similar, of course Yohji would presume that a drunken Schu wouldn't want to endanger his car, either.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

_**Kit**_ – Imagine if you didn't see Omi from the reader's viewpoint, but only saw him from Ran's… Ouch.

_**May** _– Genes rarely work in anyone's favor, especially in fanfiction. Omi's not the only one in my world with "bad blood"…

_**Shadowgirl**_ – Good thing you handed me that bucket; it wasn't my brain but my nose that leaked! I hate spring colds.

Side note, did I ever mention that Brad Crawford is (in my world) farsighted? Heh heh heh.

_**Mistress Of Anime**_ – Why, thank you for reviewing under such time of calamity! It means a lot to me that I'm so high on your list. grin

Good call on the Romulus/Remus thing. You're so very right. Funny how the best stories keep recycling, isn't it? It's like we have to remind ourselves why these things have always been important.

For power outages, ever have one from an ice storm? Nasty.

_**ITSAME**_ – I'm so glad you care. That means I'm doing something right.


	11. 11

**11**

_tatoe kono koe ga todokanakute mo  
__nido to ano koro ni modorenakute mo – sakebitsuzukeru boku ga iru  
__dore dake jidai ga nagarete mo karada o yusaburu omoi no mama ni...  
__tatakaitsuzuketa akashi wa nokoru kara_

**Ken - Spiderweb**

_God, no._

I was supposed to get out of here two days ago.

_I think it was two days. The doctor said something about a seizure, but I don't remember._

The lights seemed too bright, like nighttime sun. But I couldn't close my eyes again. Every time I closed my eyes, something picked the bed up and spun it around, real slow one way, then real fast the other. I just lay there and let the brightness bore through my head.

I hated this. It wasn't supposed to go this way, they were supposed to send me home.

Home. What a joke. There wasn't a home anymore, just maybe a new apartment and new gear, and a whole new fucking team. Just maybe. If I didn't have faulty brain wiring. How the hell could I still be Weiß like this? What else could I do?

My eyes squeezed shut, and sure enough the room started whirling. I wrapped my arms around myself as best I could in spite of the IV and monitor wires. Somewhere I heard a choking sound, and I realized I was sobbing.

_I'm so scared._

I was supposed to have another operation tomorrow morning, if I made it through tonight in stable condition. That meant, without another seizure.

They didn't tell me what would happen if I had one.

_Damn that Irish bastard. And damn his whole godforsaken team. They did this to me. They did this to Weiß, and Aya's sister._

The steadily increasing momentum of my pulsating room took on color, and sound. It echoed in my ears, thundering through my eyes behind closed lids until I thought I would go insane. The sound was crimson hatred, the color the ozone crackle of forked lighting. I could see it, taste it, smell it, and no matter how hard I held on, I felt myself slipping away and I realized that madness was not a place one goes, it's a spider waiting to feel the tremble of the web.

**Omi - Mamoru**

"I see." I fought down the worry and disappointment and tried to speak with calm authority. "Isn't there another hospital we could – oh, did you? And?" The voice on the other end of the line spoke words that I couldn't manage to process. Something about already trying to find another specialist, and they were doing everything they could, and they really had no more information for me.

My best friend was still in hospital, his brain refusing to mend properly no matter what the surgeons tried. The crack in his skull seemed to invite infection, and the battered meat within just couldn't rally. He wasn't dying, so they said, but if they couldn't solve the problems quickly, he'd never be quite the same again.

Ken was supposed to leave the hospital two days ago. I had been getting ready to go pick him up when they called to tell me he'd suffered a series of seizures that morning and they'd have to keep him indefinitely. When the call came tonight I feared for the worst, but it was only more of the same. They couldn't get the seizures under control, so they had scheduled yet another surgery. Another pointless invasion.

With a harsh movement I wiped at my eyes, then spoke forcefully into the receiver. "I don't care who you are or who you work for. Give me the chief surgeon, now! No, I won't hold! You get him on the phone!"

My hand trembled, but I refused to back down. I took a deep and bitter breath while listening to the phone click through several relays. Finally a calm, confident voice came on the line.

"Tojou-sensei, may I help you?"

Tojou. The neurosurgeon. Fair enough – if he didn't have the answers, he didn't deserve his post. "Takatori Mamoru speaking. Hidaka Ken – his condition is unacceptable. Why have you not fulfilled your obligation?"

"Takatori-san, forgive me, but his injury is stubborn. He has suffered a diffuse axonal injury with spider's web fracturing of the skull. This means –"

"I know what it means. It means his skull is a jigsaw puzzle. It means his brain is severely bruised in the back from the impact and torn up in the front from the sudden change in direction. That doesn't change the fact that you assured me that you could fix it." I had to get control of my anger before the surgeon heard me hyperventilating. I closed my eyes and counted to five. "I want honesty, Tojou. Can you help him, or can you not?"

"It's not that simple, Takatori-san!"

"Yes. It is. Can you? Or can you not? Pick one before I answer for you."

There was a long pause, and for a moment I wondered if he had dropped the phone. Then: "I am sorry, sir. I have done all that I can for him."

"Very well." I sighed away from the receiver. If Tojou heard it, he probably thought I was smoking. "Get him ready to leave."

"Sir, you can't!"

"Can't I? Do you forget to whom you are speaking, Tojou?" I glared at the phone as though the neurosurgeon stood there in person. "I am moving him to another hospital. See that it's done."

"I won't be held responsible for anything that happens if you move that man," Tojou said, his tone more afraid than defiant.

"I'm not asking you to. There is a facility in Switzerland, with a medical team standing by. I'll be there to collect him within the hour." Before Tojou could argue, I hung up on him.

* * *

**A/N:**

_tatoe kono koe ga todokanakute mo  
__nido to ano koro ni modorenakute mo – sakebitsuzukeru boku ga iru  
__dore dake jidai ga nagarete mo karada o yusaburu omoi no mama ni...  
__tatakaitsuzuketa akashi wa nokoru kara _

And even when my voice doesn't reach you  
Even when we can't return to that time again – I'm here, continuing to cry out to you  
Even when those times stream by like the feelings that make my body shake...  
Because the evidence of our continued fighting remains

"dears" – Gackt _Mars_

This chapter takes place near midnight. Omi had left orders with the hospital to notify him of any change in Ken's condition, no matter the hour. So, while Yohji is wandering around drunk…

**Ken - Spiderweb**

Ken isn't accustomed to such extreme physical weakness, and it's scaring the hell out of him. Problem is, as an agent of Weiß, he has to face his fear alone – at least, until Omi can arrange a different kind of solution.

Medical notes, for the morbidly curious:

"Diffuse Axonal Injury" (brain injury) – injury to the brain in many areas. An example may be a long tumble down a flight of steps with the brain hitting the inside of the skull many times.

"Contre-coup type" contusions – when the falling head strikes the ground it decelerates abruptly while the semi-fluid brain continues moving towards the point of impact. This causes more severe contusions in the area diametrically opposite the point of impact. Such "contre-coup" contusions occur where the brain glides over the irregular, jagged contours of the skull interior and are usually more severe than the corresponding coup-type contusions.

These are definitely in keeping with the damage inflicted by Farfarello in the final episode – nasty, nasty stuff.

As for the skull itself:

"Spider's web" fracture – radiating lines connected by concentric fracture rings. Though Ken refers to a spider's web, he doesn't actually remember that this is also the nature of his injury.

And, a bit of trivia:

Skull fracture can result from merely walking into a fixed obstruction (73 Newtons or 5 foot pounds), from the 4.5 kg adult head falling from a height of 1 metre onto a hard surface (510 N), the head falling from a standing position (873 N), running into a obstruction (1020 N) or a 100g golf ball or stone thrown with moderate force against the temple.

**Omi - Mamoru**

What he refuses to accept for duty, he will accept for a friend. Though the attitudes of Takatori are repugnant to him, Omi knows that they are necessary. Rest assured, Tojou-sensei will be investigated thoroughly before all is said and done. If he didn't do anything wrong, he'll be fine, but gods help him if he screwed up.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_May_** – Thank you, it was fun and quite challenging writing his side of things.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Remember, he was in hospital for a while – it's about 6 weeks since the tower. Spiffticious, eh? I'm sure Schu agrees with you!

**_Shadowgirl_** – LOL! Barometers hurt God, indeed.

You know, the whole mane/eruption thing was written when I was in a Ken frame of mind…hmm… (wondering who the heck Ken might have been fantasizing about…)

**_Mistress of Anime_** – Yep, time is relative. For example, this latest chapter happened about the same time as Yotan's little binge, and as far as Yohji is concerned, it's taking a hell of a long time to stagger up a little flight of stairs to street level… He'll finally get there next chapter, never fear.

Gundam Seed, you say? Need to see that one. I'm not very well versed in Gundam, but the little bits I've seen intrigue me bunches.

**_Star Princess Meesa_** – Glad you liked. Those two are very comfortable for me to write, from either perspective.


	12. 12

**12**

_kasuka ni hohoemu kuchimoto ga itooshiku hakanakute  
dare ni mo kimi o watasanai_

**Yohji - Redemption**

By the time Schuldig and I made it up the stairs and onto the sidewalk (it felt like it took hours), we were clinging to each other and laughing like old friends. Or old enemies, which was probably just as good.

I draped my arm over his shoulders, noticing for the first time that he was actually a few inches shorter than me. I addressed the side of his head and half-shouted, "Hey, there's a park not far from here. We could hang out and talk some more. I don't think I could make it home."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore," Schuldig said, regarding me with mirth in his eyes. "You know, mortal enemies?"

We both struggled to refrain from laughing out loud, but it was to no avail. I clung to him, he clung to me, and we laughed like total fools. "Oh, yeah, right," I sputtered, then cleared my throat and addressed him with mock severity. "Can you fight, Schwarz?"

Schuldig's reply came out on a gust of laughter, his eyes starting to tear up. "Not at the moment!"

"Me neither," I gasped. "Maybe if we sober up some, we can pick up where we left off."

The red-head looked around, his legs braced as though the ground were moving. "Where's that park?"

I grabbed his arm and made a straight course down the sidewalk. Apparently Schuldig did not approve of this, as he kept yanking me toward the hedges and bitched, "Damn, Kudou, how much did you have before I showed up?"

"Not enough," I whispered, catching sight of my ghostly tagalong out of the corner of my eye.

As always at this hour, the park was empty. We fell more than sat, both of us breathing hard, probably from all that pushing and shoving. _Poor bastard, couldn't even walk a straight line. But at least he wasn't haunted._

"So, Schuldig," I began, then got distracted.

"Yeah?" he replied a few beats late.

I tried to recall my train of thought, then found it and asked him, "What now?"

He gazed up at the sky as though this was the most serious thing he'd ever been asked in his life. He frowned a little, his features shifting from pretty to handsome with the change in expression. I stared at his lips as he replied, "I don't know. We're kind of on our own, now. Nowhere to go back to."

Something had been bugging me. Now I remembered: the weird kid on their team. He'd seemed too young to be caught up in this kind of work, younger than Omi. Then again, Omi had been too damn young when placed with Weiß at the start. That whole thing bothered me. I didn't know why I cared, but I asked anyway. "That little kid all right?"

He blinked, then blurted, "You mean Nagi?" Schuldig looked away, seemed to be considering his answer. "Yeah, well he'll be all right, anyway."

My mind was beginning to wake up in spite of the booze. Curiosity prompted me to ask him, "So what was that he was hitting Omi with?"

Schuldig seemed to pale a little and he regarded me with renewed suspicion. "I don't think I want to give you that information."

Again, his lips didn't seem to move. So maybe my mind wasn't as awake as I'd thought. I waved that topic off and said, "Never mind, that was a dumb question. If I were you, I wouldn't want me knowing either. Better question: are we staying here all night?"

He relaxed and laughed a little, looking around at the empty park. "Until you asked, I really hadn't thought about it." Then his expression turned almost bleak and he whispered, "I don't really have anywhere else to be."

Schuldig's mood had fallen from a drunken high to a deep, deep low. Mine fell with it. I sighed and leaned back against the bench. My words came out as a whisper. "Man, I hate how things can change so fast, you know?" I looked down at my hands. "We were good, the best. And now we're nothing."

He looked at me with pain in his own eyes and asked, "What happened, Yohji? I can tell you're hurting."

I took my time coming up with an answer to that, covering my inner debate with a cigarette. Only after a deep drag did I answer him. "Weiß is disbanded. I don't know if they're replacing us with other operatives, and I don't care. I get the feeling it doesn't matter if I tell you a damn thing, either. Does it."

Barely within my side vision, I watched as his head bowed a moment, then he pulled a cigarette from his pack and gave it a dirty look. Must be his last, I realized. Schuldig lit his smoke and shook his head. "No, it doesn't. We're kind of between jobs ourselves. Actually, forcibly retired is more accurate."

Now, this was unexpected. It was the way he'd said it more than the words themselves; clearly, Kritiker had not told us everything about Schwarz and Esset, if they had even known. It was obvious to me that things had not been as they had seemed. "Funny," I commented, "I'd have thought you guys staged a walkout."

"Yeah, well, same result, really. Can't go back, even if we wanted to." He looked at me, and I saw a tentative trust in his eyes. Trust, and a hell of a lot of pain.

I tried to lighten the mood a little. Why waste a good drunk on being maudlin? I wanted to ask how the pay was, but I started coughing again, laughing at my own discomfort in little gasping barks. Finally the fit passed. "So," I gasped out, "was the pay any good?"

This seemed to take him by surprise. Schuldig snorted a laugh and said, "Not really. The perks were nice."

Once again, curiosity prompted my words and I said, "I can't believe you guys worked for Takatori. Was he just a cover, or what?"

I realized this was a bad thing to ask him about, as he glowered at his cigarette and muttered, "Does it matter? That bastard died for his crimes, let it alone."

"Sorry, force of habit," I told him. "You know, I used to be a detective."

Schuldig gave me a curious look. "I didn't know that. Were you any good?"

I shook my head. "I kind of sucked, actually. Well, I was good at the actual work, but I sucked at finding the jobs, how about that. Not a useful combination when you like to eat real food regularly, if you know what I mean."

I realized that this topic, too, invited disaster, and I hoped we could both just drop it there. As much as his past brought him pain, so did mine. Strange, how we could be so similar, and yet serve on opposite sides. Something about him intrigued me, now that I was getting to see the person and not the operative.

Nature called, and, there being no restrooms nearby, I improvised. I figured Schuldig would run interference if anyone wandered by while I was making good behind a tree.

As I returned to the bench, Schuldig was leaning back and staring at the sky. The long, pale stretch of his throat lay bared to the night, his fiery hair hanging free over the back of the bench. Former enemy or not, the man was beautiful.

I sat beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his flesh through the confining leathers. It had been a long time since I'd had such a sense of connection with another person. I found myself thinking things that surprised me. "So," I asked, "are you staying around here?"

He laughed, his teeth white and flawless. "Kudou Yohji, did you just lay a line on me?"

I chuckled and leaned a little closer, suddenly not at all sure of my own intentions. "No, Schuldig, if I was going to lay a line on you it'd be something more like: Do you come here often?"

"Okay, okay. You know I'm within walking distance of the bar," he murmured. "How about you?"

"Likewise. It's a fair walk, but not a bad one. Tough when I'm in bad shape, like tonight, but that's why this park is here."

He tossed his hair back and said, "This park is here just so you can stagger your drunken ass on in and sober up on the bench?"

I grinned at him. "Damn right. It's all just for me, baby."

Schuldig laughed, a warm and comfortable sound that seemed to wrap itself around my long-chilled soul. "I like you. I have the feeling that you and I have a lot in common, Kudou Yohji." His pale spice eyelashes fluttered down, half obscuring the fascinating turquoise beneath.

"You think so, do you?" I murmured, leaning closer still. I could smell the lavender in his hair and the spicy masculine scent of his skin. My lips were close enough to his to kiss.

But only his breath caressed them as he whispered, "Yeah. A lot."

Too close, too close! My inner alarm shrieked in panic; what was I trying to do? This was not the time or place to be making promises that I could never keep, no matter how badly we both wanted it. Besides, we were both too drunk for a simple tumble, and I suspected that any intimate contact with this man would prove too addicting for me to handle. I kept my expression warm as I withdrew with a casual stretch and tried to figure out what the hell to do next.

Good thing I'd backed off; Schuldig seemed just as startled as I was. He patted his pockets in search of his smokes, then pulled out the pack and shook it before growling, "Damn it."

I pulled out my own pack and took two cigarettes from it with practiced nonchalance. As I held them between my lips and touched fire to them, I realized just how much I had actually wanted to kiss this man just now. His reaction had put me off a little, but he seemed as agitated as I was. I glanced down; black leather betrayed him. I smiled a little to myself and offered him one of the cigarettes.

He reached for it, but I smirked and shook my head. "Not like that," I told him. His hand dropped to his side and his mouth hung slightly open as though about to ask a question. I leaned forward and with slow precision slid the filter between his parted lips. "Like this."

I studied him as he smoked, his eyes no longer misted with alcohol but distinctly foggy nonetheless. When had I started considering this? My mind flashed back to all our previous encounters, most of which had seen us fighting. He had never tried to kill me, or any of my team, I realized. Schuldig had never been my enemy. And now this gorgeous, exotic man was seated within touching distance, watching me through bedroom eyes even as I watched him with what was probably undisguised desire in my own.

Damn, how I wanted to invite him to come home with me! It had been so long since anyone had shared time with me like this, I didn't want to see it end.

As though he heard my thoughts, Schuldig glanced toward the eastern horizon, then shut his eyes.

I couldn't resist touching that smooth skin, that elegant face. I caressed his cheek and whispered, "Rain check, then?"

At his nod, I dug in my pockets for some paper. A battered little matchbook was all I found. Hastily I wrote down my address on it, then pressed it into his hand. "Here, I know it's a little trite, but it's all I had to write on."

His smile was radiant as he thanked me.

I returned his smile and said, "I have the feeling you'll find me again."

"I have the feeling you're right."

Schuldig seemed to glow against the darkness of false dawn, and I stared after him as he walked away. Part of my mind wanted to follow, to see where he went, but I had two good reasons not to. One, he might see that as a betrayal of our fragile trust. And two, I had to muster all my strength to get my ass back home. My head was pounding. If I didn't make good speed before sunup, the brilliant light of morning would drive a spike through my pathetic brain.

"Get up, Kudou," I growled at myself. "You've made it home from worse gigs than this." Not waiting for a reply, I shoved away from the bench and began my journey along well-worn paths.

Maybe tonight I'd think about this meeting, but for now, all I wanted was my home and my bed. Too bad that I'd find both empty. I imagined fiery red hair splayed across my pillow and grinned. Definitely have to lay off the booze before that could ever happen.

I paused as I realized that the prospect really intrigued me, enough to break through my growing habit. "If it's to be, it's to be," I whispered to the morning. "I won't let drink stand in its way. I can handle a little sobriety."

With new resolve firmly in my heart, I found my way home for some long overdue sleep – sleep without dreams.

* * *

**A/N:**

_kasuka ni hohoemu kuchimoto ga itooshiku hakanakute  
dare ni mo kimi o watasanai _

Your mouth curving into a faint smile, it's lovely and brief  
I won't hand that over to anyone

"Kimi ga Matteiru kara (You'll Be Waiting)" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Yohji- Redemption **

It's harder than it looks, writing the conversation from Yotan's point of view. Between his own keen perceptions and the simple fact that Schuldig is a badly-shielded telepath, things are said that are never spoken. And no matter how plastered Yohji gets, he will always remember the important parts…

Now let's hope his ghost doesn't get jealous.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Clowyamma_** – Thank you so kindly! It's good to know that I'm achieving what I set out to do – catch the readers by the hearts and haul them along for the journey.****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – I'm glad you like the spiderweb thing. It gave me the heebie-jeebies to write it…****

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**_Mistress of Anime_** – They both need hugs, that's for sure. Ken's in for a rough ride – have you seen Gluhen? If so, you have an idea how much everyone changes along the way, and to me Ken seems the most upset by this.****

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**_May_** – Wow back – I'm grinning like an April fool! Let's see, I've made Omi sympathetic, Ken interesting, Yohji intelligent…whatever shall I do with Ran?****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Ah, I see, it's the timing thing. Basically, from Yotan's POV, he's spent the time getting progressively more and more sucked in by drink and nightmares. His life is already on a downward spiral…

Hey, now, you're scaring Ken.

Oh, there are certainly hints. As for their relationship…are you a P.L. Nunn fan, by any chance? There's some yummy art prints that my partner bought for me, and they're right within view of my computer…very inspiring!

**_NightMaiden_** – LOL! Keep those textbooks handy, I'm not done torturing my characters yet!****

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**_Arileo_** – Fear not, more Ken pain on the way.****

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**_MikaSamu_** – Thank you, I strive to be accurate. You know, injuries like that can cause major personality changes, mood swings, violent temper, sexual problems…****

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**_Kit_** – I was feeling quite goth when I wrote it.****

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**_Jenna_** – Freaked beans, eh? Thank you! I've never seen Yohji as a fool or a himbo, to me he's always been a very dark character – sort of a "what's really behind the smile?" kind of guy.

Ran has a few secrets that I'm looking forward to spilling, even if he doesn't want to face them himself.****

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	13. 13

**13**

_It's hard to notice gleaming from the sky when you're staring at the cracks._

**Ran - Tied**

I didn't want to admit it, but living alone was starting to get on my nerves.

Worse, the solo missions only served to remind me of all I had lost.

This night I had no assignment, and I had no reason to stay home. My boots echoed softly against the sidewalk as I sought – what? Solitude? I had plenty of that. Time to think? Far too much of that.

Something directed my steps toward the crowds of the greater city. Couples and groups flocked about, heading to or from the clubs as evening turned to night. Streetlights preempted the stars; I turned my gaze back toward the sidewalk.

I hadn't really dressed to go clubbing, not that I really felt like it anyway. I'd dressed to walk, and walk I had, and now I felt I was at the end of my road.

Fresh, young, happy faces smiled and laughed and flowed around me like water. They weren't that much younger than myself, but damn, I felt so old.

I found my gaze rising to survey the crowds, and for a moment it felt like I was searching for someone. There was a momentary excitement in my chest, as though I really expected to see this person materialize out of the chaos. Then I looked more closely at myself, and asked the painful question: who, exactly, was I hoping to find?

It's impossible to be Weiß without noticing one's teammates. We had a communal shower, for pity's sake. It was a locker room atmosphere at the Koneko, with no unnecessary modesty. Yohji was a notorious nudist. I felt myself smile a little at the memory.

But that was a time of innocence, no matter the work we had to do. Somehow I think we all believed that one day our services would be obsolete and we would be allowed to retire to more quiet pursuits. Maybe have a real life, a family, a house in the country.

As far as I knew, the only one who had any of that was Momoe.

I scowled at myself. I'd managed to get off the subject before giving myself a suitable answer, and that would simply not do. _Honesty, man. It's all you have left._

What's the point of torturing myself with impossible dreams?

I resisted the urge to look around one more time. It was late, and I was tired, weary beyond rational thought. This must be so; otherwise, why would I be out here in the middle of the night, waiting for a chance that would not come?

Maybe Manx would have another job for me tomorrow. Anything, to break the monotony. To distract me from the desolation that was my life.

I paused at an intersection that I knew could take me to Yohji's door. He probably wasn't home, and if he was, he wouldn't be alone. I frowned, suspicious of this train of thought. What difference did it make to me what Kudou did with his time? Besides, he knew my phone number: Manx told me she'd provide it to the others and I trusted her. Probably trusted her too much, but that was a different failing of mine.

No, if Yohji had wanted to see me he could have called any time. So could…

"Netenna-yo!" I growled at myself. This was getting me nowhere. I continued on my way home, to get some badly needed sleep. Enough of this masochistic crap. I had to get on with my life. Maybe a solid reality check was in order.

Once, we were a team. No longer.

If Ken had even survived his stay in hospital, he would be unlikely to give me a warm reception. Likewise Yohji. And Omi – Mamoru, I reminded myself, recalling the tag on his hospital door – Takatori Mamoru least of all.

I had to find a way to break my ties before it drove me crazy.

**Manx - Chained**

This was harder than I'd expected.

With a sigh I dropped the pen and rested my head in my hands a moment.

I'd been going over this in my mind for months. Why did I find it so damn difficult now?

Shuichi had saved my life, made certain I could not follow him when he confronted his brother. He had given me a chance, and in so doing entrusted me with Weiß. But every time I had to meet with them, I saw his ghost. To keep the organization solid, he'd arranged for his shadowy image to remain the backdrop for mission briefings, and we had a voice double doing the readings. It had taken all my nerve to stand there and watch, and listen.

It's hard being the watchdog of the world.

It's worse doing so alone.

"Damn it." I crumpled yet another sheet of paper and dropped it in the garbage. Was that it? Was that the reason I couldn't manage to do something as simple as write out my resignation?

If I left, Omi would be alone. His team had scattered, out of necessity. The one he would most want by his side would surely refuse. The others…well, one was still battling his own grievous injuries, and the other was battling his own demons. Could I be so heartless as to abandon him?

Shuichi had always been so tender toward Omi, this little lost boy who had been stolen from his family and left with nothing, not even the honor of his father's name. At first I'd thought it was scheming, pure and simple, but then I began to doubt this. Shuichi treated Omi not as a mercenary puppet but as the son he'd never had. He'd taught Omi to trust again, and to care, though always from behind the scenes. There were so many secrets…

I scooped the pile of paper back into a fairly even stack and shoved it into a desk drawer, throwing the pen in on top of it.

_Maybe in another month or two, after Hidaka gets out of hospital. Maybe then, I can finally say goodbye._

* * *

**A/N:**

_It's hard to notice gleaming from the sky when you're staring at the cracks. _

"The Leaving Song"– AFI _Sing the Sorrow_

**Ran- Tied**

Though he tries hard to ignore it, Ran does have a heart, and it sometimes gets the better of him. It breaks through the stony silence and reminds him that, once upon a time, he cared. It does not, however, clarify exactly for whom.

_Netenna-yo!_ – Wake up!

**Manx- Chained**

They say that courage is doing what's right, regardless of our own pain or fear. If this is true, then Manx is one of the most courageous people in this story.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Bladderwrack_** – (ch 5) In many ways, I live to torture Ran…

(ch 10 & 12) I'm glad you picked up on the differences. It's fun for me to write their very different perceptions. I liked your character analysis, by the way. Shows I'm portraying them right.****

****

**_Kit_** – grin Neither can they.****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Schuldig quite agrees with you.****

****

**_Skippys Cat_** – Wow, I need to catch up with you! So here goes: (ch 1) Both. Oxygen deprivation. Probably not. Yep, broken. (ch 2) Not. Mostly Ken. Aya and Omi – it does figure, in more ways than one. (ch 3) Me too. It sure would. He sure does. (ch 4) Yep, clean break. Please do. Yes, he is. (ch 5) Manx is cool. One of these days indeed. (ch 12) No problem. Yep, shattered.

Whew! I'm geeked that you devoured the story so fast! There's much more to tell, and it looks like you signed on for the long ride. Good to have you aboard.****

**_Shadowgirl_** – Methinks Yohji's common sense wasn't the only aching drumbeat. Those two are just damn hot together.****


	14. 14

**A Special Note from the Author:**

_Thank you all for your support during the past few weeks. You made a hard transition easier, a sorrow less painful to bear, and I bless you for it._

_GR_

**14**

_Fantasy and microchips, shooting from the hip…_

**Omi - Q**

"Manx, please get the car ready. I have some errands to run." I released the speaker key and leaned back with a sigh. Around me the huge command room seemed to close in, the walls too full of secrets.

I gripped the wheel rims and pushed back away from the console. The latest discoveries troubled me greatly, and even the encouraging news from Switzerland didn't help much. I'd be glad to see Ken-kun again, but I was beginning to doubt whether Kritiker would be around when he got back.

I scooped the pile of CD-ROMs into my pack, all the while trying to ignore the little nervous voice in the back of my head that told me I was being watched. There wasn't much I could do about it here.

Manx escorted me down to the parking garage. I settled into the passenger seat while she stowed the wheelchair in the trunk. If my back didn't hurt so much today, I'd have just used my cane, but as it was I didn't know how long it would take to find the things I'd need, so the chair would have to do.

Once we were moving, Manx asked, "Where did you want to go?"

She avoided using either name or title, for which I was grateful. I was beginning to wonder just who I was anyway, and the question of Omi or Mamoru was getting fairly depressing. Add Persia to the mix, and I was ready for a vacation.

A vacation…?

I smiled, inspiration moving me. "Manx, do we still have that cabin in the mountains?"

"The holiday retreat? Yes, we own that."

"I've been thinking," I told her, weighing my words with care. "The main office is still a little hard for me to get around in. I need to take some time and concentrate on my own health, or I won't be any use at all. I'd like to move my apartment and office to the cabin for a while, use it for the summer. We could have the doctors and physical therapist come by whenever they need to, and we could even have the cabin fitted for handicap access. What do you think, Manx? Too much for the budget?" I tried to keep my tone light and casual, though my thoughts were far from that.

She frowned a moment, and regarded me with those clear blue eyes. Then she smiled and said, "I think we can handle that. It's not unreasonable, and besides, you _are_ Persia. There are damn few perks to the job, but change of scenery is certainly one of them." Her smile turned a little melancholy, and she added, "Besides, why do you think we have the cabin in the first place?"

I nodded, then turned to look out the window. Her pain bothered me. Whenever she spoke about Shuichi, her face became so naked, her expression so lost. I couldn't afford to get swept up in her sorrow; I had my own worries at the moment, and I had to be very careful how I dealt with them.

Once at the cabin, I checked it over for ease of use, and jotted down some notes for changes. It would take some work, but it shouldn't be too difficult to make the place home for a while. I told Manx what we would need, and she made a few phone calls. The remodeling crew and the movers would be swarming all over through the next several days.

Just the amount of time I'd need.

"Manx, would you mind driving me to the hobby store?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't balk.

"By 'hobby store,'" she said, her eyes laughing, "I take it you mean the electronics shop?"

I nodded, grinning. "Hai, that hobby store. Until I can get on my feet again, I need something to do, and I can't really practice archery. I want something to tinker with, maybe even build my own computer. It's something I've wanted to do for a long time, and now all I seem to have is time."

Within the hour I was browsing happily among the rows of components and wiring at my favorite hobby store. The clerk helped me gather the things I'd need. He raised an eyebrow at a couple of the items, then leered at Manx and nodded. Let him think it was all for fun; I was safer that way.

I paid in cash.

When we returned to the cabin, the place was already crawling with construction workers, and an unmarked Kritiker van disgorged neatly packaged boxes that I presumed were from my apartment. While I didn't really like the idea of my things being packed up and moved for me, I had to acknowledge that they were efficient about it. Besides, they'd done it once before, why should it bother me this time?

Manx asked me whether she should stay at the cabin with me or arrange for another bodyguard. For a moment I considered, then shook my head at my own flight of fancy. He was Weiß, not a bodyguard. Besides, he wouldn't want to be here. "I don't mind if you stay, Manx," I told her. I wished I could say more, but until I knew a few more things I didn't dare.

I excused myself and began sorting through my new hobby box. One of the items that had caught the clerk's attention was a cell-phone casing; when he'd seen the tiny camera, I'm sure he presumed I'd use it to spy on women. At least he wouldn't wonder about it too long. But the camera was for something different. When I was done, there wouldn't be any extra room for it in the "phone" anyway.

Then I would start to work on building a computer. A powerful, non-traceable, non-hackable computer. Only when that was complete would I even try to open the encrypted files I had discovered hidden away within Persia's data discs.

Because until I knew otherwise, I had to presume that my every move was being monitored.

I made good use of the chaos in the cabin to work on my gadget without being too obvious about its function. It kept me out of the way and gave me a perfect excuse for being a little antisocial. For some reason I found myself thinking of this odd movie I'd watched with Ken-kun, where schoolboys build a woman, and I smiled at the memory. Ken and I had always watched the quirky gaijin movies, or the giant robot variety of anime. He'd save the "panty anime" for his time with Yohji. I swallowed down a sudden lump in my throat as I realized just how much I missed them.

If Ken were here, he'd be telling me I was just being paranoid. But Ken didn't know.

Moving crews and builders bustled in and out of the cabin well into the evening. I kept at my weird little hobby, soldering tiny bits of metal into thin circuit boards. Manx ran interference for me, giving me privacy and, more important, giving me time. When appropriate, she even brought me food.

By midnight I was tired and my eyes burned. In the unexpected quiet, I blinked, not sure I was still awake. I regarded my project with a weary self-satisfaction. It looked like any other cell phone, but the vibrating alarm would signal something far more sinister than any incoming call.

I frowned at it, dreading the moment I tested it out. If it found something, what would I do? The discovery alarm itself would be overlooked by anyone watching – simply a phone call, with a quick-connect relay to a local number just in case they could track the signal. A wrong number, nothing of interest. But to me it would mean infiltration, or worse: betrayal.

I wasn't sure I was ready for the answer.

I took a deep breath, settled back into the seat of my wheelchair, and casually turned the device on.

Nothing happened.

Either it didn't work, or there wasn't anything within ten feet. That would mean at least the chair itself was not bugged. If the gadget was working.

I wheeled around the room, giving the device time to register any signals.

Nothing.

I was starting to panic. If the gadget didn't work, I could try to make another, but it would look suspicious as hell. Then again, if there were anti-detection equipment in addition to any bugs, I was doomed. It was only a faint possibility, but I'd become too aware of the nature of the enemy to doubt that it was, in fact, possible.

They had tapped into Kritiker's mainframe. Everything else was child's play.

The "phone" vibrated.

I jumped, then remembered to press the "answer" key and act like it was a wrong number. My mind whirled as I switched the gadget off.

Manx's hand gripped my shoulder like an iron claw. "Are you all right?"

My heart was pounding, the paranoia of the past week suddenly compounded by an immediate panic. "I'm fine," I gasped. "Just a little tired, that's all."

I allowed Manx to wheel me to my new bedroom, where my personal effects had been unpacked for me sometime during the evening. Before she could leave, I tried the device again. I had to know: if the traitor was Manx…

The "phone" remained still.

"Good night, Manx," I whispered. "Stay sharp."

She only nodded, never asking why.

**Manx - Vindicated**

_He knows._

_Thank God, he knows._

_Now, just maybe, Kritiker has a chance._

_

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

_Fantasy and microchips, shooting from the hip… _

"Weird Science" – Oingo Boingo _Best O'Boingo_

**Omi- Q **

This is a reference to the "Q" of James Bond fame, not _Star Trek_. Omi is a tinkerer. I suspect he would have been perfectly happy to design and build gadgets for Kritiker rather than hunt the dark beasts. Still, it's good for him to have a hobby. Especially one as useful as this. (I'm just glad I finally got the "Inspector Gadget" theme unstuck from my head…)

**Manx- Vindicated **

Imagine knowing that you organization has been compromised, and there's no one you can safely tell. You can't quit. And the only other person who knew…is dead.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Bladderwrack_** – I'm getting rather fond of writing Manx, though she'd probably prefer to be written doing something else.****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – LOL! And why would you think Yotan would improve Ran's mood, eh? One usually has to be a little relaxed for Yohji's best methods to work.****

****

**_May_** – Right now, Omi is starting to wonder the same thing about Manx.****

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – You know, it's funny but I actually considered doing this story without Manx's POV. Thank MonkeyCat for talking me into giving her a voice.****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – Basically, if Yohji's a nudist, Ran just admitted he's a voyeur himself.****

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**_Skippys Cat_** – Don't worry, Manx won't jump ship until she's fairly sure it won't sink without her.****


	15. 15

**15**

_Who ya gonna call?_

**Omi - Regroup**

Lunchtime, and the cabin was finally clear.

It's amazing how useful the wheelchair has proved to be. The items sporting the surveillance devices were, for the most part, unwieldy to a man in my condition, and it would draw no attention to have them carted off and replaced. They would be stored somewhere with nothing to listen to, rather than remove the bugs and tip our hand to the enemy.

I checked the work crews and everything that crossed the threshhold, then set up my own security system. The little camera and microphones hid among the rafters and, with minimal effort, gave me a direct feed to the monitor and speakers. I didn't dare use my old computer itself – I was still intent upon building my own – but for now it would serve as surveillance.

_Now what do I do?_

I stared at my bowl of noodles, remembering the savory lunches Yohji used to make for us. For him, of course, it would actually be breakfast, but it was still delicious.

"Is everything all right?" Manx asked, seating herself across from me and picking up her bowl.

"Yes, I guess so," I mumbled, feeling lost for the first time since taking on the mantle of Persia. I looked at her, wishing I could read her mind. _Mind-reading…wrong redhead,_ I thought, then decided to take the risk. If I couldn't trust Manx, I wouldn't last long anyway. "Did you know about the breach?"

She sighed, long lashes hiding her eyes a moment. "I suspected. Shuichi knew something was wrong, but he could never find any evidence of a mole. No tracks. Nothing."

"How deep does it go, I wonder?"

"That's the problem," Manx stated. "They're good. Real good. These people just don't make mistakes. They know how to hide from us. And to be honest, I have no idea who 'they' truly are, though I do have my favorite guess."

I knew what my favorite guess was, and I was willing to bet it was the same as hers. "We need Weiß," I whispered. "There's no way around it this time. If it's who I think it is, we're the only ones who've dealt with them before."

Manx looked away.

"Aren't we, Manx?" I asked, suddenly uncomfortable. "Kritiker doesn't have other teams involved with Esset, do they? Manx?"

She cleared her throat, then set her bowl back on the table and picked up her mineral water. She seemed to be murmuring into the bottle as she said, "Crashers have been trying to infiltrate a branch of theirs for two years now, though when they started we had no idea who was actually pulling the strings. We'd picked up some very disturbing intelligence about a global organization with its fingers in just about every dirty dealing worldwide – from white slavery to drug running to bad politics. It looked like Mafia, at first, or yakuza. Maybe even Russian Mafia. For every lead, we found three more questions. And the leads all turned up empty."

"_Kuso_," I whispered under my breath. "When did you suspect it was Esset?"

"When Weiß started running into Takatori Reiji's bodyguards," Manx stated, finally meeting my gaze again. "Persia didn't like the looks of them, and tried to find out who they really were. Some of the leads turned back toward the Crashers' investigation, though they were all inconclusive. Then, with the more recent events, everything started coming together. Unfortunately, that's also when we started losing agents."

"At least that's a good reason for not telling me," I heard myself blurt out, anger rising in my heart. "_Gomen,_ I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's all right," Manx said with a sigh. "I think Shuichi hid more information on those briefing discs. That's why you're building your own computer, isn't it? To check them out? I'm curious what you'll find. I don't think he knew much more than he gave Weiß. I can honestly tell you that, as far as Kritiker is concerned, Esset is still one big mystery. And a dangerous one at that."

"All the more reason to bring the team back together. Unless we could change assignments around; I know Aya used to work with the Crashers." I hated this idea, but I had to suggest it. If that were the best way to proceed, I'd have to consider it.

But Manx shook her head. "Impossible. We need them where they are."

"All right," I said, an idea taking shape. "Call them off, then. Back away from all investigations into Esset, unless it's something overt, like racketeering or the like. Nothing deeper, just the kinds of things Interpol would go after if they could. We need to buy some time, Manx. Keep Esset from figuring out just how much we suspect. Let them think we missed the clues, or put them together all wrong. We really didn't know what we were getting into at that museum, we were just trying to rescue Aya's sister from some cultists. Let the record reflect that." The idea kept forming as I talked, growing more distinct, and throwing a red-haired shadow. "And…if it's not mentioned anywhere, make a note for the record that we have no reason to believe that Schwarz survived."

Manx blinked, her expression perplexed. "Schwarz? I don't understand."

I cleared my throat and checked my anti-surveillance "cell phone" again. Briefly I wondered if my paranoia were becoming too much of a habit, but then I reminded myself that some habits can save one's life. "I'm not sure what part they played in all of it," I told her. "But it was as if they set us up to kill those three. And they finished the last one off before we reached their location. I just think it's best if Kritiker officially lists Schwarz as dead."

Slowly she nodded, her lips pursed. "All right, I'll see to it. And if I find anything interesting –"

"You'll leave it alone," I cut in with a scowl. "Manx, you don't know how deep this goes – they got into the mainframe."

Manx's eyes went wide. "That's impossible! Our system is more secure than most government installations!"

"That's right. Now just imagine where else they've been."

Manx swallowed. She looked like she wanted to vomit. "Omi," she whispered, "how do you know for certain?"

I wheeled my chair around next to her and put my hand over hers. I was trying to be strong and reassuring, but I had the feeling it wasn't coming across that way. Usually she was the one comforting me. "I was looking for leaks. Something to do while my back mended. I found a bit of code that didn't belong there. It served as a link to a satellite relay. I don't know if it was planted from inside the organization, or hacked into from somewhere else, but someone's been browsing through our mainframe for at least eighteen months."

"God…do you think Esset noticed the Crashers' investigation and started their own?"

"That's why I want you to pull the Crashers off this project," I told her, confident in my plan now. "The Ani Museum marked the end of that cult, and there is no further need to look into their dealings. Unless I'm very wrong about this, you haven't found anything since then, have you?"

Manx shook her head. "No, nothing. No activity anywhere."

"This is our chance to pull out, then. Officially, it's over. When I'm ready, we'll see what remains to be done."

The clock chimed one, and I tried to remember what was significant about that. Then the doorbell rang, and I grumbled at myself. "Excuse me, Manx. My therapist is here."

I wheeled my chair into the front room to greet him. I wasn't looking forward to this.

True to form, the next two hours were filled with pain and sweat, and not a little swearing. But there was no way I was going through life in a chair, not if I could do something about it.

Today, however, the session ended with a surprise. "I want you to use this as much as possible," my torturer announced, affectionately patting the aluminum tubing of the walker. "Try to stay out of the wheelchair for an hour at a time. You need to strengthen your back, not give in to it."

I sighed, then nodded. It was what I had demanded, after all: the most strenuous and rapid return to my own feet as was possible. I could not let the fact that it hurt like hell change my mind.

I was presented with the walker, a cane, a steroid injection, and another bottle of painkillers. Dubiously I studied the little bottle while my back screamed at me to just take one. There was no way to know that they were safe. Besides, they'd only make me groggy. I asked Manx to stash them in the bathroom for me, though I had no intention of taking any. I couldn't risk it.

Moving slowly, I set up my computer parts on a table and stood there, trying to pick a starting point. Pieces came together like a well-loved puzzle, and before I knew it Manx was setting dinner in front of me.

"I have to get back to headquarters," she said with an apologetic smile. "I'll bring you any news in the morning. Are you sure you don't want a guard detail here? I can send someone over."

I shook my head and smiled at her. "No, I'll be fine. I've got the place wired, and the work crews have a night shift coming on. Besides, I've got my bow, remember? And there's nothing wrong with my arms." I didn't tell her that pulling the bow made my back feel like it was being ripped apart from the inside; in a life-or-death situation, I was pretty sure that wouldn't matter.

After Manx left, I regarded my project and tried to put my thoughts in order. But all I could think about was her sending someone here to watch over me. To keep me company. The silence bore down on me.

Turning a little too quickly, I winced at the complaint from my body and slowed down again. I went into the kitchen where the main phone sat. It was an untapped land line, and as such it was my best means of reaching the outside world, at least until my computer was finished. Raising the handset, I suddenly realized I didn't know who I intended to call.

Then, smiling to myself, I knew, and I dialed.

**Yohji - Recall**

"Hai?...Omi!" I couldn't believe my ears. He sounded pretty good, all things considered. "How are you? How's your back?"

I walked around my apartment, aiming for the window. The cell's reception was always better there. "Yeah, I'm doing great. Any word on the others?" I almost regretted asking that; if there were bad news, I didn't want to get Omi upset, but I really felt the need to know. As much as I wanted to avoid Kritiker, I couldn't forget my friends so easily.

"Ken should be home in about a week," Omi said, his voice relieved. "And Aya…he's been taking odd jobs."

"Great, that's great," I said, catching the pause and the way he was wording things. The line might not be secure. But that made no sense… "Oi, Omi-kun, where are you staying these days?"

"Oh, it's on the advice of my doctors, I'm staying near the physical therapy office. I'm actually getting around pretty well now."

"Glad to hear that," I murmured, trying to figure out where he was really calling from. It hadn't shown up on caller-ID, and there was no background noise that I would associate with an office. Not even the dull absence of noise that would indicate a fairly soundproof room.

No, the background noise…was of birds, and…hammering? What the –?

"So, Yohji," Omi said, his voice sounding a little more serious, "I was wondering if you were going back to your old job. I hear they're hiring."

I stiffened. I'd wondered when they'd get around to asking. "Ah, no, Omi. Not right now, anyway. I'm not so sure I'm fit for it anymore. Too much…heavy lifting."

I heard Omi sigh, and could imagine him nodding sadly to himself. "You have my number, right? If you ever need anything?"

"Yeah, I've got it." Something about his tone bothered me. "Hey, is everything all right?"

He took a deep breath before answering, so the words all came out in kind of a rush. "I'm not welcome at my friend's home anymore, and I've got no one to talk to. You've always been there for me, you and Ken."

First rule of Kritiker: if you don't trust the phone, talk in code. We always kept it light, never anything formal and never written down. My mind whirled, recognizing the cryptic phrases for what they were: a warning, and precious information. "Go on," I said. "Details, man! If there was a falling out, I need to know who said what before I get caught in the middle of it."

Omi sighed; it sounded like relief. "Yohji-kun, my friend found someone else to spend time with, and I think he doesn't like me anymore. I don't know if our mutual friends went with him, or not, and I'm afraid to ask. If I get one more piece of bad news…"

Shit. Kritiker had a mole, and Omi wasn't sure if the snitch knew he'd been found out. In any case, Omi had no idea how many others might be involved, and he couldn't risk them finding out what he knew about it. And he needed to know where I stood.

I leaned against the window ledge and idly turned the orchid toward the sunlight. "Well, you know I'm with you, and Ken, too. I don't care much for cheaters, whether it's a spouse or a friend. It's low."

"Thanks, Yohji-kun. Maybe we can meet up for snacks soon?"

"Sure thing. You know where I live, you're welcome here anytime." I switched the phone off and stared at it for a moment. So Aya was still working the field, on solo missions most likely. Ken was due back from wherever he was in about a week; I'd presumed he was still in hospital, but had no real reason to believe it. For all I knew, he was out on assignments just like Aya.

One thing was certain: Omi wanted me to come back to Weiß. No, make that two things: he wanted me back, and something was very wrong inside Kritiker.

I regarded the pale orchid as if it held my answers within its fragile petals. Perhaps it did. _Turn to the sun,_ it said;_ turn to the sun, and away from the dark, and all will be well._

I slid from the windowsill and prowled in search of my cigarettes. What were my options, really? I could return to Kritiker, go back to being Balinese the killer of the unjust. Or I could turn my back on my friend.

No, it wasn't that simple. If I went back to Kritiker, I would have to kill again. Something inside me recoiled from that idea. I'd seen too much death already. I needed to stop, while I still could. It wouldn't be a betrayal to tell Omi "no". It would hurt, and I didn't look forward to that, but it couldn't be helped. If I returned to Weiß, my soul would die. Already it was haunted and battered and scarred almost beyond recognition. I'd give him support, and advice, but I didn't dare do more than that.

But…maybe he could find me a desk job.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Who ya gonna call?_

"Ghostbusters" – Ray Parker, Jr. (_Motion Picture Soundtrack)_

A rather light-hearted quote, with heavy undertones. Imagine how creepy that movie would have been if ghosts really did start turning up in the damnedest places. Like the Kritiker mainframe.

The titles of this chapter are each a bit of a pun. It just seemed to fit the code-speak and overall paranoia of the situation.

**Omi - Regroup**

Now that Omi knows as much as he can without building his secure computer, he needs to fall back and figure out what to do next. His decision? Rebuild Weiß, if at all possible.

_Kuso_ – Crap

_Gomen_ – I'm sorry

**Yohji - Recall**

Omi is seeking to recall him to Kritiker, while Yohji is recalling the proper use of code. His mind is still that of a detective, which is probably why Omi wants him back on the team.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Arileo_** – You know, Google has a directory of Inspector Gadget stuff… I kid you not! It's…scary.****

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**_Bladderwrack_** – Exactly so. Just because you're paranoid, yadda yadda…

The more I write Manx, the more I like to write her.

Glad to be back.****

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Thank you. My muses are back with a vengeance – kind of my tribute to him, in a way.

I relayed your hugs to MonkeyCat, and she gave me one of those I-told-you-it-was-a-good-idea looks. (Probably should have waited till she wasn't channeling Brad Crawford before telling her…)****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Thank you, it's good to be back. And, do you mean Ran badly needs to get laid, or he needs to get laid badly? (Have you ever seen P.L. Nunn's fan art…?)****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – more hugs!

MonkeyCat and I rented "Najica Blitz Tactics" a while back. We couldn't help but fall into Yohji & Ken mode while watching – it's all guns and panties, man! Well, it has a little bit of plot…but mostly panties. The animation is great (awesome helicopter!) and, well…panties.

Anyway…the gaijin movie is "Weird Science".

And I like your analysis about the robots. Good thing Far didn't read that… meep!****

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**_Akayen_** – Thank you. hugs back****

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**_Skippys Cat_** – It's debatable who has the suckier job, Omi or Manx.****


	16. 16

**16**

_totsuzen no deai e no kokoro kara no yorokobi to  
__"itsushika owaru kamoshirenai..." sonna kankaku ni obiete_

**Yohji - Reflections**

Though I'd missed talking with Omi, I had to admit I hadn't much enjoyed our phone call. The next few hours saw me chain smoking and scowling at a blank television as I replayed our conversation over and over in my head. Omi needed my help, but Kritiker was a toxic job for me. The more I told myself I should stay safe and keep clear, the more my heart begged me to go back to Kritiker, to return home.

Twilight faded to night, and I was nowhere closer to a real decision.

"This is crazy," I told the empty room. "I can't help him with this, I can only hurt myself if I go back."

The room didn't answer.

Before I could sink any further into this quagmire, I pushed myself up from the couch and stormed into my bedroom. If peace and quiet wouldn't give me my answer, just maybe the wind and the highway would.

I hadn't taken the Seven out for a joyride in far too long. I only hoped she remembered how to run – slow was not an option this night. For a dilemma of this magnitude, I wasn't certain that legal would be an option, either.

With no particular destination in mind, I made my way through the neighborhood roads, aiming for the distant ribbon of highway. The Seven seemed to catch every traffic stop along the way, as though she were counseling me to patience. I resolved not to let it get to me. Sometimes there were answers in delay.

I studied the nearly empty street while I waited for the light to change. The midnight people who did brave the streets were all seeking something, whether forgetfulness or companionship or excitement; most would never find it. I'd learned long ago not to bother looking in the first place. For me, that way held only trouble.

A streak of red blazed through the night like a flare, flashing across the street right in front of me. I peered over my driving glasses to get a better look: an outrageous flaming mane of hair trailed behind a tall man who strode like fury incarnate. He crossed the street toward that tacky little bar and virtually flowed down the stairs in a blur of motion.

This could be interesting. It had to be him; there was no one else it could possibly be. But why was he moving like danger? Was he back to his old line of work? I angled the Seven toward the curb and parked, then followed him in. My fingers toyed with the monofilament line at my wrist, just in case, though I hated the idea of having to face him down. I'd almost thought we could become friends now.

I surveyed the bar patrons and found my mark immediately. It was Schuldig, all right. No mistaking that hair, or that bearing. He had parked himself at the bar like he owned the place and was at the moment tossing back a shot, most likely of Chivas.

As I made my way toward him, I decided to just play it cool. Before I could say anything he hit the floor and spun around, braced for an attack. My hands went up as I tried to calm him down. "Hey, didn't mean to startle you," I said, talking slowly and hoping he wasn't too wasted to recognize me. "I saw you come in here, thought I'd say hello. You busy?"

He settled back onto the barstool and growled, "No, I'm not busy. Just needed a drink or twenty, if that makes sense." He gave a half-hearted toast, then drank like he meant business.

I frowned. Even in this dim light I could see the fading handprint on his left cheek. No wonder he was so angry. I decided to take a chance. "You know, sometimes when I'm having a night like that, I go driving. The wind helps blow all the fog away. You want to try it?"

Schuldig seemed to be debating my offer. The muscles in his jaw tensed, his eyes narrowed, then he simply said, "I'd love to." He drained his glass, reclaimed his change, and let me lead the way out of the bar and back to the Seven.

I had my hand on the driver's side door when I noticed he was just standing there, staring. He seemed less than impressed. I fought down a scowl and simply got in and put on my driving glasses. "You can hop the door if you like," I told him, "but I'm not coming around to open it for you."

Schuldig seemed to wake up and let himself in, settling into the seat with a surprised smile.

"Never been in a Caterham Seven before, have you?" I asked, starting her up and letting her purr.

"No, actually, I haven't," he admitted, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Some people like to buy these as kit cars, but this baby I bought whole, just like you see her." I thought he might like to know the finer details, so I gave him the tour. "She's got the 1.8 litre engine, reaches cruising speed in 3.4 seconds. The chassis is designed to cut drag and nose lift. Basically, she's like a rocket on wheels. Add the 6-speed close ratio gear box and adjustable double-wishbone suspension, and you've got one sweet sex machine."

Suddenly I realized he wasn't even listening to me. _Oh, well, that's what I get for presuming._ I turned onto a main road and asked, "You want to see what she can do?"

Schuldig flashed me a cocky grin. "Show me, Weiß."

I grinned back. "Hang on to your ass, Schwarz." I pulled onto the freeway and let her run.

From the corner of my eye I could see that my passenger was quite impressed now. He had this little surprised smile, the kind a guy gets when his date unexpectedly goes down. The only difference for me was, I knew she would.

And, to the best of my knowledge, there were no other cars on this island that could race her and win. Beauty and speed, what a combination!

Beside me, Schuldig seemed to relax into the moment. He shook his hair free to flow out behind him. It made for quite a sight, flying through the dark in a streak of fire. He seemed to lose himself in the blur of speed, a sensation I knew all too well.

Well, if he was wanting to lose himself either to booze or the lure of the highway, I knew the right place to go. I'd taken my fair share of dates up into those hills, and knew them as well as if I'd mapped them myself. I guided the Seven from the road and onto a little path, then coasted her to a stop near a stand of trees. In the soft night silence, I tilted my seat back and lit up a cigarette. The first puff came and went on a contented sigh.

Something about my passenger told me he needed privacy, so I looked up at the sky rather than directly at him as I invited him to vent. "So, talk."

Schuldig seemed momentarily lost. He covered by lighting a cigarette himself and taking his time with it.

He looked sad, bereft almost. I wondered what his story truly was. "You sure seem like a guy who needs a good listener," I offered. "It's okay, Schuldig. I'm unemployed, remember? Besides, I don't have anyone to talk to either. Not anymore."

He sighed, then laughed softly. It was not a happy sound. "I guess I just don't know where to start, that's all."

"Okay, so let me start," I ventured. "What are you running from?"

The red-head gasped, then tried to act casual, but his hand shook as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. "Who said I was running?"

I studied him over my driving glasses for a moment, then slipped them off and put them away. "You act like a guy who's fighting with his wife," I told him, unable to stop playing detective now that he had my curiosity engaged. "I've seen enough of them to know. Someone at home is making your life hell right now, and all you want is to get away from it." My eyes challenged him to deny it. "Come on, you were ready to buy the whole damn bar."

Schuldig laughed again, a nervous, windy sound. "You're still a detective, aren't you. I guess it's not the sort of thing you can just stop doing, is it?"

"So tell me I'm wrong."

He swallowed, but didn't look away. His eyes shone like rain-glazed turquoise. "You're not wrong, no. Not a wife, though. Obviously."

I tried to lighten things up a little. "And here I was, all that time thinking you were a cold-hearted bastard." Talk like this could get heavy real fast; caffeine might be a good bet, here. I always kept a stash behind my seat, and now I raided it for a couple of canned coffees. "So," I asked as I offered him one, "who's got you so miserable?"

Schuldig took the can and debated a moment, then answered me, seeming to push the words out all in one breath. "Crawford. The man is driving me insane. He's calm and cool one minute, then duct taping the windows shut the next."

"Duct tape? Hentai!" I grinned, trying to keep it a little light.

This must have caught him off guard. He laughed, a soft, pleasant sound, and bantered back, "I wish!" Then he turned serious again, the words flowing as though he had no choice in the matter. "No, but really, he says our lives are in danger, that we're kind of on a hit list. We've been living incognito since the tower, hiding out, moving from place to place. Crawford says that it's going to get worse, and soon. That the goon squad is on its way, so to speak. Thing is…"

I heard his unspoken doubt, and voiced it for him. "You think he's wrong."

Schuldig nodded, his eyes sad. "Yeah, I do. We've all been through enough to drive anyone over the edge, and Brad's been having mood swings and shit." His left hand rose to his face, fingertips tracing his bruised cheek. He looked like he was emotionally exhausted, and that this situation was really pushing him to the limits.

"That's his name? Brad?" I asked, more to cover my own reaction than out of curiosity. It had always bothered me when guys hit their girlfriends, but until now I'd never met an uke with that particular problem.

"Yeah, Brad Crawford. He was our team leader. _Is_ our leader." He covered the slip with guilty speed.

I pretended not to notice. "Oh, right. He's American, isn't he? I thought I'd heard that somewhere. So Crawford is his family name." I paused for some nicotine and some coffee, then changed tangent. "So, Schuldig: is that your given name or your family name? I'd hate to be too familiar, you know."

His reaction surprised me. He looked down, as though ashamed. "It's okay," he whispered, "I said you could call me that."

I regarded him curiously, then offered a reassuring nod. "Oh, it's your alias. That's cool. Back in the day, they called me Balinese. But you already knew that," I added with a wink. Since names seemed to be a touchy subject too, I decided to take this back the direction it had been going, see where he went with it. "Sorry about the interruption. You were telling me how your leader is driving you to drink. I know how that can go."

"Do you?" Schuldig murmured, barely looking at me.

"Long story. You said Crawford gets mood swings. So does Aya. Some days…" I shook my head; with Aya, words would not suffice. "He can be such a princess, sometimes."

Schuldig laughed sharply and offered, "Well, in my case, I'd be the princess. Brad's more like the dark wizard or something. He's got us living under stricter rules than ever, telling me that the least little slip will invite disaster."

Something about this seemed important. I kept my tone light as I prompted, "Will it?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Who knows? I can't see the future."

The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I knew suddenly how Schwarz had managed to defy us for so damn long. It all made sense. Now if I could just get Schuldig to admit it.

"What," I asked, "can you do?"

He turned toward me, his face a mask of surprise. "Beg pardon?"

"Look," I said casually, "the kid throws things around without touching them. You've hinted that Crawford knows what's going to happen before it does, and from what I've seen of him fighting, it's true. So what can you do?"

Schuldig stared a moment. Then his eyes softened, and I felt like I was falling into them, like he was singing me into a dream while he searched through all my secrets. I heard my own panicked whisper: "Hey, what the hell is that? What are you doing to me?" And suddenly the remaining piece of the puzzle fell into place. My momentary panic vanished, the sensation of dream-falling vanished, and all that was left was a detective's finest sense. I relaxed and leaned back with a canary-eating grin. "Okay, I get it," I announced. "That's what your edge was. How you kept us guessing. You read minds, don't you?"

Schuldig looked so comically startled I was hard put not to laugh out loud. He flinched and glared at his smoke, which had burned down low enough to singe the backs of his fingers. He moved as though to drop the cigarette in the dirt, changed his mind, glared at it again, then flung it with full force toward the foliage. Then he turned his attention back to me.

I tried even harder not to laugh, or even smirk. It wasn't easy.

"I'm impressed," Schuldig said in that old familiar purr. He gave a mocking little bow and continued. "Three for three. Did the others figure us out too, or just you?"

And what, I wondered, would he do if they had? "Don't know. Don't care, really. I guess I just can't resist a good mystery."

The momentary return to villain mode melted away from the red-head, perhaps for good this time. He got this silly little grin, then started laughing like he'd never stop. He hauled in lungfuls of fresh night air and howled them back out in one of the finest fits of hilarity I have ever had the privilege to witness. It almost reminded me of the aftermath of one of Omi's pranks, especially when the victim was Ken. Almost. But all things considered, Schuldig's laughing fit was certainly in the top ten.

As the mirth slowly subsided and Schuldig started to catch his breath again, his eyes sparkled with renewed life as though laughter had become his food. He wiped at his eyes and sniffled a little, took a few deep breaths, then sipped his coffee, all the while smiling like he knew a rare and precious secret.

"Feel better now?" I asked him, marveling at the unexpected beauty that seemed to shine through him. I had the feeling he didn't even know it was there.

He nodded, looking like he couldn't talk yet. So we just sat there a while, as the stars wheeled above us and the moon began to set.

After a few minutes Schuldig excused himself and made for the treeline. I continued staring at the night sky, almost lost in thought. A brilliant flash of greenish light cut a streak against the darkness, and I smiled around my cigarette. My wish made itself, without my knowledge, but that was all right. I didn't really believe in wishes, anyway.

When Schuldig came back, he put his hands on the car door and stretched like a cat. Then he looked up at me, through a curtain of red hair, and smiled. "Man, it is so good to have someone to just talk to, to vent to, you know? You were so right when you said I needed that. I did. I do. It's damn near impossible to talk like that with Brad, or the other two. I mean, Nagi just doesn't get it. And besides, he's pissed off at me anyway now. And Far isn't always coherent."

That name caught me. I remembered our one unfinished assignment, and asked, "Far, as in Farfarello? That would be Jei, right?"

Schuldig got this odd worried look and said, "Yeah, but I wouldn't call him that to his face. He gets really sensitive about his past, treats it like a whole different person." Then he shook his head at me and added, "Damn, if you're not the most observant bastard I've ever met, you're well in the top two! You're having way too much fun with this."

I grinned, the cigarette clenched in my teeth at a rakish angle. "What can I say? Can't help it, really. I've been into crime all my life." _Oh, that didn't sound right!_ "I mean I read crime dramas and mysteries a lot. It's my passion. Well, not really, but it is a hobby."

"Got any more coffee?"

I reached across the passenger seat and handed him another can. "That's why I became a detective. I like solving mysteries. My mind won't let it go, it'll just keep working at it until I have it figured out." Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "Is it like that with your mind reading, Schuldig? I mean, does it stay on all the time, or can you turn it off?"

He paused only a moment before saying, "It's like tuning in to different radio stations, and turning the volume up or down. Basically that's it. Things can affect it, like if I was sick or exhausted, I might have either extreme: too loud, or no sound at all. I got hit in the head when the tower broke apart. Still having some problems from that, but it'll mend. It always does, right?"

The tower. Ah, shit. I hated thinking about that when I was awake; the nightmares were bad enough. But now the memories washed over me like saltwater. I took a long drag on my cigarette, hoping it would cut through the moment. It didn't help. My body remembered its futile struggle against my wire, and the pressure in my chest.

Vaguely I heard Schuldig whisper, "God, Yohji." I felt more than saw him slide back into his seat, his body warm next to mine. Still those awful seabound minutes played themselves out in my head, refusing to leave me in peace. Again I saw that greenish light, and Aya floating above me, sword still in his hands. And, right before I passed out, Asuka smiling at me, her arms open wide, against a backdrop of white.

Then I felt a petal-soft touch, as though someone was fumbling for the remote control to my inner movie. I shut my eyes and said, "You're doing it again, aren't you?"

He sounded chagrined as he said, "Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Your thoughts were really loud just then."

"Thoughts can be loud?" I asked, glancing at him. "Even though I can't do what you do, I can still make you hear me?"

Schuldig managed a wan smile and said, "You don't have to be a telepath to shout at one, no."

Interesting. I turned my attention to my cigarette, still trying to reconnect with the world of the living. I hated when those memories swarmed over me, covered me like ants. Somehow, Schuldig had made it stop. I wondered if he'd even known he was doing it.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" I mumbled.

"You're alive, man. Don't forget that. No matter how close it was, you made it."

I nodded and said, "I know." I took a deep breath, then looked at my passenger. "I know, Schuldig. It's been a hard couple of months, though. Guess I'm still kind of in shock from it all."

"I hear that," he murmured, sipping his coffee.

"Hey, Schuldig?" Something had been bothering me ever since that day, and now it occurred to me to ask him about it. "Do you know how we survived that? Because we sure as hell couldn't figure it out."

"You're right, we should probably be dead. Brad said the same thing." He looked around, as though searching for ghosts. In a near whisper, he continued, "No, I don't know. But I believe it was Nagi. He didn't want us to die, so he found a way to get us all to shore, alive. He couldn't tell who was who, so he had to pull everyone."

My thoughts drifted back to another assignment, a very bad assignment, but one with an intriguing landmark. I focused on that landmark. "So basically the same thing that made a crater of Masafumi's house could be used to pull us out of the water and land us on the beach?" At his slight nod I paused to light a fresh smoke, then murmured, "Damn. Is it just because I don't know anything about this kind of stuff, or is that kid, like, super powerful? Like something out of a halfway decent manga?"

The red-head pulled out his own cigarettes, only to find the pack empty. This was becoming a running joke, for him. I smiled and handed him the one I'd just lit, then fished out another for myself. I could tell he didn't care for my brand, but nicotine is nicotine, and he seemed a little desperate. I couldn't blame him. Our conversation had gone from deep to spooky to just plain weird. "Then again," I observed, "I guess we all could be characters from manga, couldn't we? I mean, our lives have certainly been bizarre enough, no one would believe it was really true."

Schuldig chuckled, a soft, throaty sound. "Good point. They do say truth is stranger than fiction, right?"

"Yeah, but we're strange to the point of being surreal!" I blurted, realizing the truth of it as I heard myself say it.

He grinned and toasted with his canned coffee. "To being surreal, then."

"To being surreal," I echoed, then drained half my remaining coffee in one swig.

His voice again soft and thoughtful, Schuldig said, "But, yeah, you could say Nagi's that powerful. To be honest, the kid's never been charted. They couldn't measure him."

"'They'? Which 'they'?" I asked, curious again. If he was willing to talk, I sure as hell wanted to hear it.

"Rosenkreuz." Schuldig fairly spat the name. "Esset's own answer to a special school for psi talented kids."

I couldn't resist. Maybe it would lighten the mood a little. "I take it they didn't have an ethical bald man in a wheelchair running the show."

My comment had the desired effect. Schuldig laughed a little, the tension draining some. "No, they did not. As far as I know, the only psi-training facility in the world is Rosenkreuz, in the heart of der Vaterland. Or the bowels, more likely. But Nagi kind of baffled them. They couldn't measure his ability. In other words, they never found a limit to what he can do."

It was stranger than I'd expected, discovering that yes, my life was definitely manga-fodder. A psi-training facility? In Europe? And they couldn't even figure out a little kid? I needed a few moments alone, so I excused myself to go piss.

I forgot that I'm never really alone.

Asuka sat on a low-hanging branch, the moonlight filling her while stealing all her color. _"You're going to keep this to yourself, aren't you? Oh, Yohji…"_

Funny, I meet a telepath who talks without words, and I already know how to do the same thing. I haven't needed to speak aloud with Asuka for a long time. _"I've left Kritiker. I'm not Weiß anymore. They can't expect me to pump this guy for information, Asuka. It's not right, and I won't do it."_

She scowled at me, the little line crinkling between her eyebrows. Asuka always looked adorable when she was mad, though she was usually mad at me. _"'They'? Who the hell is 'they'? You know damn well who's in charge of Kritiker now, and he needs your help. You can't just turn your back on him."_

I sighed, finished my business, and concentrated on getting her to leave. "You're not real. You can't tell me what to do with my life. _My_ life, Asuka!"

"_Just, pay attention, Yohji. All right? Pay attention, and be careful."_ With that, she faded back into the night, leaving behind a moonlight glow and a sense of foreboding.

I got back to the car and my mind got back on our earlier topic. Somehow it seemed very important to know more about Schwarz, though whether they were the reason for a ghost's warning or something else I couldn't figure. Not yet, anyway. "So, do you guys know what he can do? You probably know more about him than they did, right? You guys seem pretty tight."

Schuldig looked down and murmured, "We are. But frankly, we don't know any more about his limits than they did. They gave him to Brad with a list of restrictions, things to keep his power constrained. They said he could lose control of it and hurt us if we didn't follow their orders about him."

"You mean he's like one of those creepy weird animals from a back-alley pet store," I teased, "the kind that can't get wet or eat after midnight, or all hell breaks loose?"

He frowned a little, and I felt that weird pressure in my head and knew that he was trying to figure out what the hell I'd meant. Then Schuldig gave a short laugh and said, "Actually, that's pretty damn close." His tone turned bitter as he told me, "The hell of it is, he can't just be a kid. They've got him convinced that any strong emotion will send him into a power surge, that he'd end up killing us. He's been living like a prisoner, or like a monk, ever since Brad brought him to Germany. He's a kid, for Christ's sake! A kid who can't eat candy."

I hadn't expected that. Schuldig was really upset; I needed to understand this. "I'm not sure I follow."

Schuldig started talking faster, as if he were running out of time. "To keep Nagi safe, we had to keep him calm, keep him away from certain things. Things like sugar, caffeine, fast food, loud music, television, exciting movies… Oh, it gets worse," he sneered, his eyes dark with anger. "He's a fucking teenager who's not even allowed to masturbate, for fear he'll blow up the damn building."

God. What do you say to something like that? But my detective mind couldn't just back away slowly. "It's like they want to control him from a distance, keep him in line on their terms," I murmured. "Like they didn't really trust Crawford to do it right. Or maybe they wanted an agent of their own within your team. Someone who believed he owed them his life."

Schuldig looked like he'd just been punched. All the adrenalin seemed to leave him in one shaky breath. "God. They would, too. Just to prove they could."

We sat there in silence for a while, watching smoke curl from our cigarettes. I could tell that Schuldig, and probably Crawford, was at the end of his wits about the situation, but they were the only ones who could change it. "What are you going to do for him?" I challenged, hoping it would make him thoughtful rather than angry.

"I want to prove to him and to Crawford that those restrictions were a pack of lies," he stated, his voice strong and clear. "I want that kid to have a normal life. Or as normal as it gets, anyway, considering that our lives are pretty much manga fodder. We've already broken away from Esset. I won't make that kid live under their bullshit rules."

I nodded to myself, thinking it the rest of the way through, then decided to take the plunge. "You did say he was pissed at you. Let me guess, you rushed him. You pushed the issue when he wasn't ready. If he believed what they said, which you told me he did, then those restrictions are the only safety net he has, and you probably just tried to yank it out from under him." I glanced at him, then added, "Don't get mad at me, Schuldig. I know an impulsive hot-head when I see one, and that kid's situation gets your temper up."

His jaw clenched, and I could tell I'd nearly sent him back into a right fury over this. I could also tell that I was right. He confirmed this with a single word: "Damn."

Not looking directly at him, I added, "That's probably why Crawford hit you tonight, isn't it." I watched his reaction from the corner of my eye.

Schuldig sighed and tossed another spent cigarette over the door.

I offered him a little smile. "I told you I was a detective."

"I thought you said you were a crappy one."

"I'm hurt."

Schuldig gave a soft, unhappy laugh. "Right, so you got me. Yeah, I feel better, Weiß. Nothing like having your painful secrets guessed by a near stranger."

"Look, it's obvious how much you care about that kid," I told him. "You and Crawford both. From what you've told me, you're both ready to do whatever it takes to keep that kid alive and well, even if he's miserable. Even if he's in a cage. But on some level, you know that's wrong, and it's tearing you up. You've got this idea that he's either a prisoner or totally free, you can't find a middle ground for it."

"How can there be middle ground?" he snarled. "Either we keep him on all the restrictions, or we show him they're not necessary."

His single-mindedness surprised me. I'd thought he was more flexible than that. But maybe this training camp in Germany made people inflexible. It certainly made sense, in an ugly kind of way. "Schuldig, have you stopped to consider that, just maybe, you can take them off one at a time? Let the kid get used to the idea. Did you know, a lot of hostages and war prisoners get agoraphobia when they do get to go home? They're so used to living in captivity that the sudden rush of freedom scares the hell out of them. And, if strong emotions bring on these power surges, I don't think you should go scaring the hell out of him. Do you?"

He closed his eyes, as though trying to conceal his pain from my scrutiny. "So basically we should leave things as they are, and maybe start small, is that it?"

"Definitely," I told him, cautiously optimistic. "Pick one thing that he won't fight too much." Then it occurred to me that their circumstances weren't ideal for this kind of work; maybe they didn't have the option of going at this slowly. "Or pick one that's most likely to be broken by accident, if you have to go into hiding for real. Something you have the least control over. Get him used to the change slowly, if you have the time, or keep him distracted if you don't."

Schuldig stared at me. He seemed rather surprised. "Damn, Yohji, that was good. Thanks. I was trying to pick one that would make him happy if it went away. Get him some real music in his life, for starters. Sweets and caffeine upset his stomach, anyway, and I'm not about to get into sex with him. Which one would you work on first?"

I thought about this, gazing up at the sky. Another shooting star flashed by, and this time I made a real wish before turning my attention back to my red-haired companion. "Well, if you're hiding out, I'd think that bland food would be a luxury. I mean, you'll have to eat what you can safely get, right? You might not have time to cook for yourselves." I paused to sip some coffee and collect my thoughts a little more. This next comment might not be well received, but I had the feeling it would prove crucial for the kid's well-being. "You'll need to address the sex issue sometime, you know. It'll happen in his sleep if he's not doing anything awake. We're just built like that. If he's scared of it, it'll be that much worse."

Schuldig sighed. "Yeah, I kind of figured we'd have to talk about that. I'm not looking forward to it."

"Make Crawford do it," I told him, totally serious.

He nearly choked on his coffee.

"No, really!" I said. "You talk like you're kind of his parent figures, right? Well, if one can't do it, the other has to. So make Crawford have 'the talk' with Nagi. If nothing else, it should keep you entertained, na?"

Schuldig barked out a laugh, more of surprise than humor. "You're crazy! I can't tell Crawford to do a damn thing!"

"If he loves the kid as much as you do, he'll talk to him about it."

"Damn, there you go being a detective again. Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yeah."

Schuldig looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked me, "What about you? What about Weiß, Yohji?"

Another unexpected turn. "I told you. Weiß disbanded."

His voice soft, he pressed onward. "But it hurts you, doesn't it? You wish it hadn't happened like that. You still care, too, Yohji. We both miss the way it was. I just have a little more at stake, that's all."

I swallowed, trying to force down the lump in my throat. I hadn't wanted to look at it, to see the hole in my life that their absence had left me with. "Yeah, it hurts. But we can't go back. It can't ever be the same. Ken would be right there with me, but Omi… And Aya…" My voice faded like ghosts.

He touched my shoulder, and for a moment my grief intensified. Then I realized I was seeing his grief on top of my own, a pain we had each carried since crawling out of the ocean. We had all changed that day. It was as if the sea had taken a little bit from each of us in exchange for her mercy, leaving us a little less connected, a little less human.

I turned to look into his eyes. Deep, deep turquoise seemed to soak in the moonlight, becoming luminous and yet reflective, like trick mirrors. I wasn't supposed to be able to see through them, but I did. _He is so much like me…_

Then I realized that he'd wandered into my thoughts again, and I smiled. "Get out of my head, Schuldig."

We were sort of leaning toward each other, closer than I'd thought. And he wasn't moving away.

I shifted a little closer.

His lips parted slightly; I could feel his breath upon my mouth.

We met over the stick shift, his lips pressing against mine, my tongue touching his. Schuldig draped his wrist over my shoulder as I pulled him closer. We breathed as one, and before his eyes closed I imagined I could see myself through them.

The silence after our kiss was deep and comfortable. I watched the stars fade as the first blush of dawn colored the horizon. I wished the night would never end. But I knew it must. "Are you going back?" I asked, trying not to sound concerned. Or disappointed in his necessary answer.

"Yeah."

I had to give him something to take back with him, some kind of help. He seemed so damn lost all of a sudden, like he was dreading his answer himself.

"Be careful with the kid," I told him. "Don't scare him. Go slow. He'll come around, and believe me, when he figures out they lied to him, he'll throw the shackles off himself. That is, if they lied."

"I'd bet my life on it."

"From the sound of things, that's exactly what you're doing," I reminded him. "Just be careful, okay? I like talking with you. I'd hate to see you blown into confetti."

"I'd hate that too!" he replied with a grin.

My belly reminded me that it had stayed up with me all night, and deserved some breakfast. "You hungry?" I asked him.

Schuldig's stomach let out a growl worthy of Monster Island.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," I laughed. "Let's find some breakfast, all right? Oh, I should ask you, can you eat in public, or will Crawford freak out?"

"Hmm." He seemed to be thinking about it. "Well, they say it's better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, so let's eat! I'll deal with him later."

I drove to a café I knew to be thinly populated at this early hour. God knows I've spent many a night here, hunched over a cup of coffee like a tourist or sipping miso while rain pounded the windows and ghosts visited the living.

"So, Schuldig," I asked quietly, "what happens now?"

"Most likely Crawford will chew me a new one for leaving last night, or for Nagi, or for some other damn reason," he grumbled, then paused to taste his soup. "Nagi will probably just glare."

"Hmph. I'd offer to trade, but that probably wouldn't go over too well, would it." I gazed out the window for a moment, then sighed. "I'll probably be dodging the telephone half the morning. I should just turn the ringer off. They're trying to talk me into coming back. I don't think I can deal with that today."

"So why not go back, Yohji?" Schuldig asked, his eyes soft. "If there's a place for you, why not take it?"

"Would you?"

"It's not the same," he whispered. "You know it. That was cheap, Kudou."

"Gomen. You're right." I drained my coffee and slouched in my seat. "I can't just go back, Schuldig. I've been through too much with my team. Just the thought of getting used to new members makes me want to gag. It was home, for a while. It's not anymore."

"Can't we just run away together?" Schuldig blurted, a vague smile in his eyes. "Find some place away from all this shit and just watch the world spin?"

I laughed and lit a cigarette. "A place full of beautiful people, with pretty cars and good music, cheap booze and no telephones," I offered, exhaling the words with the smoke. Had to admit, it sounded pretty good to me.

Grinning, Schuldig leaned back and looked out the window. He lingered in his daydream a few moments, then his mood collapsed. He sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. "Damn, Yohji. We are so fucked."

"Hey, look on the bright side," I said, reaching out to touch his hand. "You still have my address, right?"

Schuldig blinked, then nodded. He seemed to brighten up from the inside. "That I do, Kudou. That I do."

"You're welcome there anytime. And you can still look for me at that bar. I tend to go there a few times a week, just to catch up on the local street talk." I wanted to tell him to come to my place the next time Crawford decided to get physical, but it seemed a little too personal. Besides, Schuldig was an adult; he knew the score, and he knew where I stood on the matter.

I drove him back to the bar and dropped him off. Damn, but it was getting harder to watch him walk away like that. He looked like he was bracing for a tempest, and I figured he probably was. "Good luck, Red," I whispered to his retreating back, then turned my wheels for home.

* * *

**A/N:**

_totsuzen no deai e no kokoro kara no yorokobi to  
__"itsushika owaru kamoshirenai..." sonna kankaku ni obiete_

The joy from my heart at our sudden meeting says  
"Maybe it'll be over before I know it..." those forebodings scare me

"Emu (for my dear)" – Gackt _Mars_

This chapter is the counterpart to Schuldig's POV in "Coming Home"; there are things said and things heard that are unique to each.

**Yohji - Reflections**

Yohji sees himself reflected in Schuldig, for the two are alike in many ways. Though haunted by a painful past, each man holds his teammates dear, and would sacrifice much to see them happy.

_Hentai!_ – Kinky!

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

A special note – I've set up a new live journal just for my fictions, and I'm going to start moving my more graphic stories over there in the next couple of weeks. Please see my profile page for the address and details, and I apologize for any inconvenience.

****

**_Shadowgirl_** – realizing that I'm home to both an Aya-muse and a Far-muse… Throwing things at TVs, eh? I need to be extra careful about that…especially when my Yohji buddy gets me watching things like "CSI" which end at a frickin' cliffhanger half the time!

We're doing the lunch-for-breakfast thing here too. Had to deliver newspapers all night long, just got up around 1:00. (Imagine Brad and Schu driving around the country in the middle of the night, singing along to classic rock on the radio…)

"Seems his sarcasm is hiding the fact that he would risk his soul for his friends." That happens a lot in my Weiß world.****

****

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – "Having his friends pick up that bloody cross once more." Well said. And it's something Omi is hesitant to do.

That's part of how I write him, as the big brother figure. Big brother, and a crime geek. I imagine him staring at the TV as "Law & Order" and all its related shows come on throughout the week...(and not for the ladies in "CI" or "Trial By Jury", either!)****

****

**_Bladderwrack_** – Good point, there! Funny how in the world of anime and manga, the characters one would expect to be covert are usually the most obvious. Not to mention, they almost always wear one of two (at the most three) outfits, making them most spottable in a crowd.****

****

**_Skippys Cat_** – Fortunately for Kritiker, in my world Crashers do a lot of computer hacking. They don't have to get too close on this one, and they knew enough to keep their distance. Whether they know exactly what Esset ops can do…is another chapter.

Yohji is in a very unenviable position, as far as his life with Kritiker is concerned. (As far as Schuldig is concerned, the position ain't that bad, but the car's a little cramped…)****


	17. 17

**17**

_There are no flowers, no, not this time._

**Omi Messenger**

I let the phone ring several times, torn between wanting him to pick up and hoping he wasn't home.

"Hai?" The voice sounded terribly distant.

"Aya-kun?" The name stuck in my throat.

For a moment I thought he'd hung up. Then, "Omi?"

Relief flooded me, surprising in its strength. "Yes, it's me. How are you doing, Aya? It's been a long time."

"Yes, it has."

This was more awkward than I'd expected. His voice was just as powerful, just as soothing as always, but the silences seemed deeper. I swallowed. "Things are a little strained here," I said, hoping he'd catch the undertone as fast as Yohji had. "Had a falling out with some old friends. Just needed to say hi to the ones who haven't left yet, I guess."

There was another pause, this one longer than the last. "I see. Anyone I know?"

"I don't think you met."

"That's a good thing, then."

"Yes, it would be. Hey, Aya? I need to ask a favor of you," I said, not at all sure how he would react to my request. But he was the only one I could ask to do it.

His voice sounded frosty as he said, "Go on."

"Ken-kun is coming back from hospital in a few days, and I need to find him a place to stay for a while. Do you have room in your apartment for a roommate, just until he's back on his feet?" I held my breath, hoping the answer would be yes. I wanted to put them back together for Weiß, if Ken could handle it. In any case, I didn't want Ken off on his own. It seemed awful of me to think this, but I couldn't help wanting someone to just watch over him. The Swiss doctors were optimistic, even encouraging, but head wounds could have unexpected long-term effects, and Ken was my best friend. I wanted him to be safe, and there were few places I could think of that would be safer than under Aya's wing.

"Are you asking for yourself, or for someone else?"

The question hurt – I understood exactly what he meant by it, and my eyes stung at his words. "For myself, Aya-kun. He's your friend too, na?"

"Hn. I suppose. I have room. When is he coming?"

"Afternoon four days from now. I can bring him from the airport," I offered, wanting to see both of them again, even under these circumstances.

"I'll pick him up."

The breath sighed from my chest without a sound. I stared at the phone for several seconds. "All right, I'll make sure you have his flight information, Aya."

"How's your new job?" he asked, stressing the last two words ever so slightly.

"It's fine," I whispered. "Aside from the in-fighting, and office politics, of course."

For a few moments neither of us said anything. The words I wanted to say died in my mouth. I didn't even wonder what Aya was thinking anymore.

"Omi?"

Not Mamoru, not Takatori; just Omi. Hope flared in me, an impossible hope that maybe he would be just Aya again, too. "Hai, Aya-kun?"

I could hear his sigh. "Nothing. Never mind. I have to go. It was good to hear from you."

"Thank you, Aya-kun. Maybe we can all get together for lunch or something, after Ken gets settled in." More than ever, I wanted to see them both, and Yohji. But especially I wanted to see Aya, cold, beautiful, harsh Aya with his piercing eyes to match the edge of his katana.

"Hn. Maybe."

The phone fell silent. I stared at it, not quite willing to set it down just yet. Why couldn't I just tell Aya how I felt? How long would I keep it to myself?

"Takatori," I reminded myself aloud. I couldn't bear to confess my feelings to a man who would probably just throw them right back in my face, all for the sins of my father. Sins I could not make clean. "Damn it."

I looked up the number for the hospital in Switzerland and dialed. Ken had always managed to cheer my worst moods before, maybe he could work his magic over the telephone.

I asked the switchboard to put me through to his room, and then I waited, my hands unaccountably sweaty.

An achingly familiar voice came over the line. "Moshi moshi!"

"Ken-kun, hello! It's me!" I paused, caught between worlds. "It's Omi-kun."

**Ken Kuma**

"Omi! Man, it's great to hear from you!" I hooked my fingers into the little hole at the back of the desk phone and picked it up, carrying it with me as I paced around the room. "How's everybody doing? How's –"

"Ken-kun," Omi broke in, sounding kind of stressed, "it's a long story. Better save that one for when you're here in person. I've got a place set up for you and everything." He paused, almost like he was debating telling me any more. "You can stay with Aya-kun until you're settled in. I know it'll take a while for you to get used to things again, I wanted you to have familiar surroundings as much as possible."

"Staying with Aya? What did I ever do to you, Omi? I thought we were friends," I teased. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of shacking up with the brooding swordsman, but it was better than being all alone. I'd had enough of that for a lifetime.

Soft laughter floated over the receiver, though it sounded kind of mixed with something other than humor. "Ken-kun, it won't be that bad. It's not like he's your keeper or anything."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just messin' with you, Omi-kun! It's been too long since I've seen any of you guys. It's been, what, nearly seven weeks? Damn!" I had trouble filling in those weeks, but the calendar showed that it was already early June, and I knew we'd been fighting in early April. Even I could do the math.

"It'll be good to see you again, Ken-kun," Omi breathed, still sounding like he was on the verge of some kind of emotional meltdown. "I'll visit after you get moved in, all right?"

"What about the airport?" I asked, my hope that he'd be there with the others to greet me off the plane fading away quickly.

"I'm sorry, I can't make it," Omi lied, "but Aya will be there to pick you up. I'm so sorry, Ken-kun, please understand."

Why would Omi lie about that? "Omi, is everything all right? What's going on?"

"Long story, like I said," he replied. "I'll explain later, okay?"

I nodded, then remembered I was talking to him on the phone. "Right, okay. You'll owe me. Oh, hey, can I have Yohji's number? I wanna let him know I'm all right." I scrambled for pen and paper as Omi started rattling off digits.

I hung up the phone, then retraced my path around the chair to try to untangle the cord. Maybe Yohji would know what was really going on, and maybe I could get him to talk to me about it. Omi wasn't telling me something, something important. I guessed that Aya was an acting operative again, and Omi probably wanted me back on board too. That made sense; if he wanted to partner me with Aya of course he'd want us under the same roof.

My imagination kicked into gear, and I grinned. Active duty again, the heavy gauntlets weighing down my hands, the swordsman at my side as we hunted down the lowest of the low and brought them swift justice… The muscles in my arms jumped as if anticipating the blow. On impulse, I punched the chair.

The thrill of the impact made me crave more. My body hungered for this in a way I barely remembered.

I hit the chair again. And again.

Joy surged through me. I felt light, and strong, and…good. Damn, I felt good! My muscles tensed and flexed from my fists up my arms and into my shoulders, then down my back and through my legs to where my bare feet braced against the cool flooring. When the chair slid out of easy reach, I punched air, then changed my movement to mirror the strike of the bagh nakh: in, and up.

I could almost feel the weight upon the claws.

**Ran Stone**

The phone was a dead weight in my hand. For some reason I couldn't bring myself to set it down.

_Why?_

Why couldn't I just say it, for pity's sake?

Three little words. That's all it would take, to change the course of my life, and his, forever.

Three words that seemed to be covered with barbs: they wouldn't clear my throat without pain, without tearing something of me in their passing.

_Hypocrite._

I'm supposed to judge men on their actions, not on the actions of their ancestors. This was the twenty-first century, not the sixteenth; why couldn't I let it go? It wasn't Omi's fault that he was related to that snake. Why must I hold that against him, even now?

No, it wasn't that simple. It never is.

Takatori or no, he must be Persia. Even I could sense the tang of war in the air, that bitter scent that called to crows. Something was very wrong, and we stood at the center of it, just as we had stood at that damned tower.

Though my heart begged me to be gentle, I could not heed it. I had shed my gentle heart when I gave my sister back her name. Aya no longer, I must be Fujimiya Ran once more. No longer the hidden heart of a woman, but the heart of a warrior through and through. I must fight, so that others may know peace. It is the way of things.

Why couldn't I correct him when he kept calling me "Aya"?

My eyes closed against the day. A kaleidoscope of memories tumbled behind the lids, moments against a backdrop of crimson. Battles we had fought, and won, or lost. Meals we had shared. Times when I should have spoken but remained silent as stone. Opportunities passed and gone.

Three words to change two lives.

_I forgive you._

With a yell I hurled the phone at the wall and watched as the tiny messenger shattered into a thousand pieces.

A/N: 

_There are no flowers, no, not this time._

"This Time Imperfect" – AFI _Sing the Sorrow_

**Omi Messenger**

The idea of shooting the bearer of unwelcome news is an old one.

**Ken Kuma**

'Kuma' is Japanese for 'bear', a strong and unpredictable wild animal with a tendency to maul with its front claws. It does not kill for the joy of it.

Ken…is not a bear.

**Ran Stone**

Hard, unmoving, often possessed of very sharp edges. His logic and his honor have backed him into this corner.

And no, the last line is no accident.

**Special Note:**

I'm putting this note with all my fics; the one for "Standing Outside the Fire" is a little different, so if you're reading that story, please read that note as well. If you've seen this note with "Coming Home", you can skip it here.

Hey, all, just wanted to give you the heads-up about the BIG MOVE to my livejournal (guiltyredfics). I'm reposting ALL of the "Cross of Changes" arc over there, including this story. When I'm all caught up, I will be posting subsequent chapters ONLY at my livejournal and my website! I will give you plenty of notice before pulling the plug here, as I want all of you to continue reading in the new venue.

Again, this move is due to restrictive, reactive, and arbitrary policies here, which must at some point come into conflict with my storytelling. The first story to disappear from FanFic will be "Standing Outside the Fire", due to content and rating issues. The others will follow to maintain continuity. You don't have to have a livejournal yourself to read (or review), so please, visit my livejournal, get comfortable with the setup there, and settle in for some (hopefully) powerful reading. Oh, and please, sign any reviews there with your FanFic pen-name so I know who you are!

Thank you!

GR

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Skippys Cat_** – Sometimes our cars know us better than we do. And yes, Schu spills a lot of info with Yohji – is he careless, or trying to warn the 'normal' world? Hmmm…

Nagi's actions right after the tower fell do, indeed, carry a lot of power throughout the rest of all their lives. It's a very good question to keep an eye on.

**_Shadowgirl_** – Um… "Bohemian Rhapsody". ("Wayne's World" flashback, sorry! Get the whole car rockin' on that one!)

I'm glad you compared viewpoints, there's a lot of interesting differences, ne?

Oh, a riddle! If Schuldig dressed as a fairytale princess, and Brad dressed as a wizard, what would everyone else be?

They'd be OUTTA THERE! sweatdrop

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Hmm, and it's just across the water (Michigan, here)… Sometimes I get into political ranting myself, when I have time I even blog it – TheWerAnarchist. Come visit (tho I haven't had the chance to blog about RL stuff lately).

Yotan and Schu are almost an ideal couple in so many ways. They're even mature enough to understand how shades of gray define the world.

I think Yohji is awesome and cool myself. And yeah, he needs hugs. Big time.

**_Bladderwrack_** – "like squeeing, but quieter" – I like your style!

**_May_** – Yes, interesting, ain't it? Yohji is very good at finding things out. Then again, Schu is probably presuming that it's mostly over Yohji's head. It's always a mistake to underestimate someone like Yotan, no matter what side you're on.

And thank you! I try.


	18. 18

_**Special Note from GuiltyRed –**_

About that move to livejournal… "Standing Outside the Fire" is already up over there, and "Coming Home" will be current after the next chapter. I also have a story that never touched fanfiction dotnet, "Whom Gods Destroy", and I am reposting "To Those About to Die" on my journal as well.

After this current chapter of "The Rain Doesn't Grieve", I'll be posting only one more chapter of it on this site. Again, the reasons for this move have to do with the policies of fanfiction dotnet and my refusal to self-censor. Please come to livejournal dotcom and find me there, you can use the Search box to find the username "guiltyred (underscore) fics", or hop over to my main blog "guiltyred" and navigate from there.

I don't want anyone getting lost, and I hope this move isn't too much of a hassle for you all to follow. The stories are also being posted on my main website if you don't like navigating the livejournal world – the address for that is in my profile here at fanfiction dotnet.

If you have any questions, concerns, or need a better map, please feel free to email me – that address is also in my user profile.

Thank you!

GuiltyRed

**18**

_smoking guns and apologies, never given what you need_

_scrap the simple games you play and take them to the floor_

**Yohji - Visitor**

I set down the cell phone and smiled. It was nice hearing from Ken after all this time. He sounded good. A bit hyper, maybe, but I couldn't blame him for being excited: he'd never been away from Japan for so long before.

So, Ken was going to room with Aya? "Yare, yare, Ken-kun. If you two don't kill each other in the first week, I'll be highly amazed." Not that I could offer any better options. My lifestyle really wouldn't handle a roommate, especially a morning person like Ken.

The cheery phone call had put me in the mood to party, something I hadn't done in far too long. Singing along with the stereo, I cleaned up my dinner dishes and neatened up my apartment; one could never know whom one might meet, after all. Didn't want my home to be less than presentable, just in case. Fresh sheets and towels were a must – the ladies appreciate a man who knows how to do his own laundry.

Around ten I decided the apartment looked as good as it was likely to, short of hiring a maid. Wine in the fridge, music loaded into the stereo, the remote on the kitchen bar – perfect. Just to make sure, I lit a couple of candles and turned out the lights. It looked just as good by candlelight, if not better.

A moment of melancholy swept over me, colored golden by the flickering light. The missions, the disasters, the mending, all these had stolen months from my life. Now, while the nightmares were fairly tame and alcohol was a friend and not my master, I wanted to reclaim myself.

Reclaim, or reinvent? Either way, tonight was mine.

I reached to snuff out the first candleflame, then paused. The likelihood of ever seeing him again was slim. I could only pray he stayed safe, and ran fast.

Eyes shut, I blew out the candle.

As I left the apartment, I kept up my sealing-the-door thing, this time with a bit of candlewax. At least it was harmless, if a bit weird. Funny how quickly random actions can become habits if you let them.

The place I picked was within walking distance, though a bit of a stretch. I could use public transport if I got too drunk to walk and too unlucky to have any other ride, but I didn't expect that to happen. I'd come here with the intention of finding a new friend, and by the gods I planned to make good on it.

The music writhed around me like a drunken whore, pulling and caressing in a state of wild abandon. I gave myself over willingly, dancing with everyone who paused in my space. Men, women, couples, didn't matter. We moved and teased and often touched, working each other into dervish-like ecstasy.

I only paused to drink, alternating water and whiskey. You can't dance like that if your blood is half alcohol, and I didn't want to have to call the party off on account of drunken stupor. This night was too good to waste.

As I danced my way back to the center of the floor, where the crush of bodies shed layers of clothes and inhibitions, I noticed someone moving toward me through the crowd. My eyes drooped shut, and I smiled, imagining long red hair brushing across my chest.

When I opened my eyes again, my pleasant fantasy evaporated, replaced by a silent roar of white noise. Asuka stood before me, entreating me with hollow eyes. She needed something, I had to do something, but I couldn't understand her. "What?" I mumbled, inaudible through the music.

"_Go home, now!"_

I frowned. Slowly that old sixth or seventh sense kicked in, and I knew that something somewhere was amiss. My detective instinct urged me to listen to my ghost and get the hell out of there, but why?

I let the music propel me toward the door, all the while feeling myself growing steadily more sober. Something wasn't right, but what? The back of my neck crawled with paranoia.

My fingers toyed with the catch on my watch. If someone was following me, they were in for a rude surprise. I couldn't decide whether the feeling of trouble meant I was in danger myself, or if it was someone close to me. I did decide, though, that if I made it home without any incident, I was going to call Omi and make sure nothing was wrong.

The closer I got to my apartment, the more certain I became that the threat lay ahead, not behind. I climbed the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky spots, and approached my door on full alert.

The fragile wax thumbprint on the edge of the door was missing.

Adrenaline surged through my veins. Someone was inside my home. Someone who didn't have a key: the keyhole bore fresh scrapes, from an object other than the right key being forced inside.

Then I saw the blood.

Fresh blood.

Whoever had broken in was probably still there. I put my ear to the crack of the door and listened. Running water? Who would break into my apartment and run the water?

I opened the door.

About the time my mind registered light seeping from under the bathroom door, the water turned off, followed quickly by the light. They knew I was home.

I paused to turn on a lamp, all the while letting my brain work on the clues. No key, blood, water, reckless.

Schuldig.

My jaw tensed in anger. Anything that would send him to my apartment bleeding couldn't be a good thing, and I had no idea how bad off he might be. Only one thing to do. I approached the bathroom, then leaned back against the wall opposite the door. Casually I took out a cigarette and lit it. On the exhale I addressed the bathroom door. "Why are you bleeding all over my apartment?"

A soft clatter sounded within, then the door opened. Schuldig stood there, nearly swaying. He looked like total hell: clothing and skin torn, eyes ringed with darkness. All he said was, "I'll explain later."

Damn. At least I knew first aid, and had a well-stocked emergency kit. He stepped back as I turned the light on and entered the bathroom. With the calm of having tended many wounds, I gathered the things I would need and set them on the counter.

Then I remembered that paranoid feeling, and reminded myself that I had no idea who had done this to him, or where they might be. And I had his bloody handprints all over my front door. I reached under the sink, grabbed the rags and solvent, and told him, "Be right back." I'd done this before, too. Couldn't do anything about the scratched lock, but maybe it wouldn't catch anyone's attention. I cleaned the door, then made sure it was locked before returning to the bathroom.

Schuldig had turned the tap on once more, though he seemed too exhausted to tend his own wounds properly. He'd washed some, but there was still much to be done. I put away the solvent, tossed the rags into the bathtub, then rolled up my sleeves and washed my hands thoroughly.

Schuldig started to dry his hands, and I realized that he had the wrong towel. "Hey, don't do that. That one will leave lint in the wounds." I stepped back from the sink and reached for the towel he was holding. "Here, rinse off again and let me have a look." I dried my hands with the fuzzy towel, then tossed it into the bathtub with the rags. Some part of my mind insisted that I clear all DNA traces of this man from my home, and I wasn't sure I could argue with it. Towels were cheap enough.

I watched as he scrubbed gingerly at his hands. He was starting to get pale and shaky, with a sick gleam of sweat on his face. When he was done, I took hold of his right hand and gently dried the palm with a wad of gauze. I frowned at him; his hand was a wreck, dotted with what looked like thorn tips. "What did you do, get in a fight with a tree?"

"Something like that," he gasped, clearly in a good deal of pain.

"Wait here," I instructed, then hurried to the kitchen. I had learned long ago to keep pain medicines close to the fridge, so I'd remember to eat something when taking them. The bottle of codeine was still half-full, and fresh. I poured a mug of orange-pineapple juice for him to take the pills with, then rummaged in a couple of drawers until I found the duct tape. I found myself smiling at a remembered comment of his. Maybe that would make things a little easier. The first time I'd used this on myself, I'd nearly fainted, and Schuldig seemed more delicate than I ever was. Mug, tape, and pill bottle in hand, I made my way back to the bathroom.

Schuldig was leaning against the wall, his breathing ragged and his eyes dark. I hoped he wasn't going into shock. After setting everything down on the counter, I picked the pill bottle back up and opened it. "Can you take codeine?" I asked, realizing a little late that some people were allergic.

"As far as I know."

"Here," I said, holding two tablets in front of his mouth. Schuldig took them in his teeth, and I held the mug for him to drink. He sipped just enough to wash the pills down. I put the mug back on the counter and reached for the tape. "Okay, let me see your hands." He lifted them with the hesitancy of anticipated pain. Hoping to put him at ease, I told him, "I was thinking about you, Schuldig. Something you said gave me all sorts of ideas."

He gave me a puzzled look.

I showed him the duct tape and winked.

Schuldig gave a little laugh. "Hentai!"

I tore off a strip of tape, then lifted his right hand and squinted at it. Definitely thorns, and road grime besides. This was going to be bad. "Okay, you're not going to like this," I warned him, "but trust me, it works." Moving slowly, I pressed the tape to his damaged palm. Schuldig flinched when I worked the tape into the cuts, but it had to be done. "Easy," I murmured, "I know it hurts, but we have to get that shit out of your hand." I worked the tape in, pressing it down firmly and as gently as possible. When I knew I'd done the best I could with it, I looked into his eyes and asked, "Ready?"

Schuldig gritted his teeth and nodded, clearly bracing himself. I started peeling the tape off, going slowly so as to not break any of the thorns into even smaller slivers. Schuldig gasped, and I sympathized totally. This was a bitch of a way to get crap out of a wound, but it worked, and right then we didn't have the luxury of an emergency clinic. I had the feeling that Schuldig and his team wouldn't ever have that luxury again. By the time I finished easing the tape off his right hand, he looked like he was about to pass out. The closest seat was the toilet, so I guided him in that direction, put the lid down and helped him sit. Schuldig looked like he wanted to puke: fresh sweat shone on his face, and his skin was ashen. He sat there panting as I prepared a cool cloth and draped it across the back of his neck.

If I didn't hurry this up, he was going to faint or hurl before I got done. I gave him a few moments, then lifted his left hand.

His breath hissed between his teeth as I worked; the palm looked more like ground meat than a hand. Not looking at his face, I pressed the tape into the mangled mess and felt for thorns. I took extra care peeling the tape free this time, as I'd felt a number of hard bits sticking to it as I'd worked. It was bad, worse than his right hand, but to my relief (and no doubt his!) the tape seemed to have pulled all foreign matter loose. I looked at the tape, then showed it to my patient. It held an assortment of plant debris, gravel, and oily grit that looked like asphalt.

"Nice trick," Schuldig said, his voice harsh and queasy-sounding.

"It's really good for glass," I said as I stuck the two spent pieces of tape together and tossed them in the tub with the rest of the trash. "But it's the best way I've found to get thorns and splinters out without them breaking. It's a florist trick. Can you stand yet?"

Schuldig nodded, but his body wasn't inclined to believe him. He tottered to his feet and stood there swaying, his eyes dark with pain and codeine. I guided him back toward the sink, not missing the flinch he gave when he realized where we were going. Schuldig stared wide-eyed at the medicines on the counter as though expecting them to bite him.

I picked up a jar of salve and opened it, enjoying for a moment the clean non-smell of it. Somehow he trusted me to smear the stuff on his hands, and he sighed as it went from cool to numbing. I slathered it on thick. I hadn't seen damage that bad in a long damn time; I only hoped the salve would do the trick. If they got infected, it would be an ugly mess for weeks.

After the salve, I applied gauze bandages, wrapping his hands with extra care. Though his left hand had been the more damaged, he let me bandage it without complaint, but his right he kept tucked against his chest until I carefully moved it just enough to wrap. It wasn't the hand that bothered him now, I realized: he was holding his arm at an awkward angle. I frowned. "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

He balked, clearly not wanting to endure any more tonight. Had he thought I wouldn't notice?

"Come on, let's get that shirt off." I started undoing the buttons for him. Not that there was much shirt left to remove: it was nearly as shredded as his hands. He let me work without hindrance, even shrugging out of the left sleeve for me. But when I tried to get the right sleeve free, he flinched and gasped with the pain. This was going to be bad. I had the feeling he'd taken quite a fall, without his usual graceful skill. Must have been in a hell of a hurry.

I eased the shirt off him as carefully as if he were a rare and fragile doll. The shirt became one with the garbage, taking its last fall in a wad into the tub. Then I looked back at Schuldig – and understood why he'd been cradling his arm. The entire upper right quarter of his torso was one massive bruise, darker around the joint of his shoulder. "Damn, Schuldig," I murmured, feeling his shoulder to check for heat.

He tried to look down at himself, then settled for peering around my shoulder at the mirror. Schuldig gasped, clearly not expecting the damage to be so visible.

I made him turn a little so I could see the back. The skin across his shoulderblade was damn near worse than his hands. I'd have to do something about that, but first we had to know if the joint were dislocated. "Okay, just try to relax," I said as I gripped his elbow and tried to flex his arm, starting with the wrist. Amazingly enough that seemed nearly unhurt, so I tried the elbow. Again, not bad. Gently I started to raise his arm at the shoulder.

"Fuck!" Schuldig hissed, jerking back and hugging his arm to his side.

"Steady, man," I murmured, assuring myself that there was no fever in the joint. Then I tried it again, holding on as firmly as if this were Ken I was working on. I'd set enough dislocated shoulders on that man to open up shop as a chiropractor. Fortunately for Schuldig, it looked like he wouldn't have to endure that particular event: it was sprained, but not out of socket.

Hopefully the codeine would blunt that pain soon enough. As it was, he didn't complain as I cleaned the torn skin on his shoulder blade and applied salve to it. Then I used an elastic sports wrap to bind his arm to his side for the night. "That'll keep it from moving for a few hours, anyway," I told him, eyeing my handiwork. "There's not much else I can do about the shoulder. It's sprained pretty bad, but at least it's in the socket. Anything else need doctoring?"

Schuldig looked down and gave a disgusted groan.

I followed his gaze and couldn't hide a sad smile. Tears and scuffs decorated the familiar black leather. Those must have been his favorite pants, I thought. Well, obviously if they were in such bad shape, his legs had to be doctored. He didn't have the hands to undress himself, so I reached down and unbuttoned them, then eased them down his slender hips. I couldn't look at his face; something about the situation seemed a little too intimate. He wasn't wearing undershorts, and for a moment he looked like he was getting a little aroused. Then the leather pulled away from a cut on his leg and he flinched, breaking the spell.

Fortunately the leather was fairly sturdy. His legs weren't cut up too badly. Schuldig remained still as I cleaned and medicated his legs. He did flinch a little, but only when he watched me toss the ruined pants into the bathtub.

I put my medical supplies away, then went to my bedroom to find some spare clothes. Hopefully Schuldig wouldn't topple over and damage himself any more in my absence. I couldn't give him anything too complicated, or we'd never get him dressed, and pissing was likely to be a challenge in itself. I decided to put him in a bathrobe and hope he wasn't too shy to deal with it.

When I came back to the bathroom, he was leaning against the sink and staring at his reflection. He looked tragic, so different from the grinning agent of Schwarz I'd battled nearly to our mutual deaths. This was the man I'd talked to in my car, in the park; this was a human being who was in pain, and right now looked as if he couldn't understand why it hurt so damn bad.

Then again, that could have just been the codeine.

I offered him the robe and a hairbrush, and he gave me a lopsided smile in return. Then I gave him his privacy again and went to prepare the couch for company.

A/N: 

First, apologies for the long delay in posting. "Real life" got in the way a bit. Details in my livejournal for the curious. We return now to the program already in progress…

_smoking guns and apologies, never given what you need_

_scrap the simple games you play and take them to the floor_

"Dance Floor Metaphor" – The Cruxshadows_ Frozen Embers_

**Yohji - Visitor**

A perfectly Yohji song from a perfectly Schuldig band. The chemistry between those two is unmistakable. And yes, closing one's eyes while making a wish and blowing out a candle is powerful magic in itself.

Yare, yare – Oh dear. (yare yare desu ne)

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Amythestmage_** – Whooo, review #100!

I'm glad you came back too. The odd perspective is intentional, to show just how separate the men of Weiß are from one another.

And the stories are all continuing quite happily at my livejournal, do come visit.

**_Skippys Cat_** – I certainly do think that Schwarz scores higher on the sanity scale than Weiß. It's harder convincing yourself you're one of the good guys.

**_Shadowgirl_** – Thank you! Something about writing Ran makes me wax poetic.

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Yep, a little too eager…

Funny thing about Ran not being able to say "I forgive you" to Omi – what, exactly, does he have to forgive him for? Good question, ne?

Um, I can't answer that…not yet, anyway. sweatdrop

**_MikaSamu_** – Thank you.

**_Shy_** – That just made my day! grin

**_May_** – Just wait until Omi starts to feel comfortable in that role.

**_Redqueen_** – LOL! Aya lust is a good thing. Ever run across PL Nunn's artwork? Yeow and yummy!

Basically, if the idea from the cd wasn't so logical I had to keep it, it's out. (So far it's all out, but I haven't finished reading everything; I'm leaving myself a loophole in case something out there makes sense.)

You know, when it comes to art, I don't think of it as copycatting so much as a case of synchronicity.


	19. 19

**19**

_nemurenai yoru mo, tameiki no asa mo  
kimi no daisuki na tsuki no uta o_

**Omi Landlord**

One hand groped for the phone, the other fumbled at the lightswitch. I blinked as both hands found their marks. "Hai?"

"Takatori-san, forgive the interruption. I'm calling from Ty-so Security. There's been an attempted break-in at one of your properties."

Properties? Oh, right, we were leasing out some of the old corporate buildings. "Which one?" I asked, trying to wake up enough to deal with this.

He told me the address, which didn't mean anything to me at all, and the name of the company leasing it, which didn't sound familiar either. I tried to think what a landlord was supposed to do, couldn't come up with an answer. I looked at the clock. Just after one in the morning.

"Was anything taken? Any damage?" I swallowed. "Was anybody hurt?"

"As far as we can tell, he didn't get into the main facility. He was trying to get in through the parking garage. Security patrol scared him off. We're pretty sure the guy was acting alone."

"I see. Is there something I need to do about it right now?"

"No, sir, this is just a courtesy call. The leasing corporation has been notified, and there was no property damage."

"Thank you," I mumbled. On impulse I asked, "Any description of the suspect?"

"There's about two seconds of him on the camera. Gaijin, tall, red hair. Then it's as if he just vanished."

Now I was awake. I glanced at the little box on my nightstand, picturing the fine gold chain within. "I see. I'll check with police in the morning, see if they know anything." I hung up the phone, but my hand remained on the receiver.

This was unexpected, in so many ways.

Though the Schwarz agent was certainly not the only red-haired gaijin in Japan, I couldn't shake the belief that it was him. In all our dealings with him, he'd been fast, and slippery as hell. How could they have him on camera, unless he wanted to be seen? Or, unless he'd made a mistake.

And, if it was him, what could he have been doing there in the first place? The company renting that property made audio components – I'd finally recognized the name from their commercials – and besides, he'd never gotten into the building proper. Going in through the parking garage? How odd.

My mind kept chewing on the information until it went stale.

Security patrol scared him off…

If it was him, if my imagination wasn't just running amok with a report of some other red-haired gaijin, and if he still didn't want to be found…I knew enough to believe that an ordinary security patrol would never have fazed him at all.

Someone else had been there.

Someone who had already gotten to the security cameras before Ty-so ever saw the footage.

Was this a message to me, letting me know that someone else knew that he was alive?

Was it a warning to Kritiker? Or a challenge?

"Kono baka," I grumbled at myself. Fatigue was making me strange, and I couldn't afford that. In the morning I would send for that video, if it still existed, and I would decide for myself what it meant.

**Yohji Haven**

Only after making a pot of tea and scrounging for a box of cookies to offer my guest did I remember to toss a pillow on the sofa for him. The table was set, the impromptu bed made, and the finishing touch was just dropping onto the cushions as Schuldig wandered in from the bathroom. He walked slowly and deliberately, the codeine putting him a little off balance.

I watched him as he perched on the edge of the sofa and picked up a cup with his free hand. He sipped, then gulped, then went for the cookies.

"You want to tell me what happened?" I asked around a sip of tea.

Schuldig looked down at his hands. "He was right," he whispered. Then his eyes went wide, and he blurted, "Oh, shit! Nagi! I have to go!" He struggled to get up.

I took the teacup from him before he could drop it. As though dealing with an hysteric, I carefully pinned him to the sofa. "You are not going anywhere tonight." I sat down next to him, gripping his good wrist. "Tell me what happened, maybe I can help."

He swallowed and took a deep breath. Then the words started tumbling from him, faster and faster as though he were racing to get it all out. "I took Nagi to a cyber café, to look up some things. All the way there, I had this feeling there was another telepath in the area. I should have turned back, but we needed the information. Nothing happened until we started back. The other 'path made contact, they were watching me. I told Nagi to go straight back to Brad, and I took off running. I had to buy him time."

Pausing only for some tea, Schuldig continued, nearly breathless in his haste. "I tried to lead them away from Nagi, there were three or four guys I think. I borrowed a car, they followed. I ended up in a Takatori parking garage, of all the damn places, and they were right behind me. I took off on foot, tried climbing down the outside of the building but the son of a bitch had this thing about thorny fucking plants growing up the side of his goddamn parking garages." He gestured with his hand and growled, "Sturdy enough for climbing, but with a hell of a pricetag."

I refilled his cup. He drank it down, followed it with another cookie. Fragile orange wafers left translucent crumbs on the bathrobe.

"So, yeah, I got in a fight with a tree. I led them around in circles, and I hope to hell I lost them because I can't run anymore tonight. I'm fucked up, and I'm tired, and I hurt in places I didn't know _could_ hurt." His voice dropped to a bare whisper as he finished his tale. "I don't know if Nagi made it back. If the kid had to use that phone call, I don't know if they're even in Japan anymore."

While he polished off another cookie and the last of the tea, my mind replayed everything he'd just told me. I wondered if the pain had just made him careless; I asked, "Can't you do that mind thing, find out where he is?"

"No, not right now I can't," he said. "I'm too messed up. Besides, pain pills throw me off."

"Ah, hell," I grumbled. Should've made certain he could take those without any problems. Regular folks have allergies; what the hell do telepaths have?

"No, no, it's okay," Schuldig said, noticing my frown. "I'm exhausted and hurt anyway, I wouldn't be able to do anything without broadcasting. Besides, the good thing about painkillers, I can't use my gift, and no one else can either. I mean, it muffles my talent so I look like anyone else right now. If they're still looking for me, they can't find me."

Interesting. Very interesting. "Does it turn the radio off?" I asked, quite curious now. I'd never been above quizzing a man under the influence. This was the most I'd heard from him about his peculiar gift; no telling when it might be useful.

"No, actually, it doesn't," he said. "Some drugs make it worse, especially the stronger ones. This stuff doesn't seem that bad, though. But anything really strong throws it right out of control. I can't keep them out, and I start to lose me. That's fairly typical, really. You'll never find a telepath hooked on downers. Not a functional one, anyway." Then Schuldig gave me a cockeyed look and a smile. "Shit, I just gave you a weapon, didn't I."

My hackles went up. "Will I ever have to use it?" I asked, deadly serious.

"Not with me, you won't," Schuldig murmured, his voice fading as the codeine started to pull him under in earnest. He yawned and sagged limply into the sofa even as he tried to fight the drug. "But, I have to go, I have to get back to Brad, and Nagi."

I stood and guided Schuldig to lie back on the sofa. "Do you guys have any local contacts? Someone who brings you news or anything?"

Schuldig whispered, "Yakuza," before slipping into unconsciousness.

I arranged the blanket over him and made certain he wasn't in any danger of rolling off the sofa, all the while thinking about what he'd told me this night. If whoever had been chasing him had followed him here…

With the quick precision of having done this many times, I went from outside door to balcony to windows, stringing neat lengths of razor wire across pegs set at neck height and knee height. No one was getting in without a rude surprise.

Once I felt my home was as secure as it could be, I sat in my chair beside the couch and regarded my sleeping guest.

Asuka perched on the coffee table and regarded both of us.

"What do you want, Asuka?" I asked, grateful that Schuldig was asleep. Mind-reading was one thing, but I had the distinct feeling that talking to ghosts would freak him right out.

"He's dangerous, Yohji," she whispered, shaking her head. "He shouldn't be here."

"He's got nowhere else to go," I growled.

"That's not what I meant." Translucent eyes bored into my soul. "Disaster follows him, Yohji, like a storm cloud. And you are in its path."

"So what should I do, Asuka? Abandon him?"

"No. You've abandoned enough already." With that, she faded out again, leaving me with that unsatisfied feeling I always got when she had the last word.

"Shit." I tried to figure out what she meant, but my mind didn't want to cooperate. Fatigue rolled over me and I yawned. This wouldn't do; I had to keep watch tonight, it was as important as any mission.

Mission?

I looked at my cell phone.

Omi.

I'd just started to dial when I changed my mind. His phones weren't secure. I'd have to find a way to get around that, but right now I couldn't call him.

Scrolling through my list of contacts, I selected one by the name of Tika and pressed the call button.

A sleepy-sounding girl answered. "Hai?"

"Tika? Neko-yo. Is your oniichan there?"

The phone traded hands, and a very alert male voice came on the line. "Hai, Neko-yo, what you want?"

"Information. You owe me." I hoped he remembered; it had been a very long time since I'd bailed him out of a very sticky situation with the police. I still considered that one of my brightest moments as a detective, and one that would pay off for a very long time.

"Hai, hai, you got friends forever here. Or until you touch my sister. I'm listening, what?"

"Interesting news, new faces, misplaced tourists, things like that?"

My contact spoke with someone at his end, then to me he said, "Might have. Try the Chin, they got eyes on the streets lately. I'll call you back."

"Cool. Later." I hung up, then dialed another number. The Chinese gangs were usually very well informed, but I was hesitant to call in too many favors from them. Their notion of fair play wasn't quite the same as mine, so I used them with a great deal of caution.

This situation warranted using one of those favors.

Once they were notified I was in the market for information, I settled back to wait, and to keep watch over my helpless guest.

On impulse I made one more call, to a newshound with a very keen nose. At his promise to call me back in the morning with any interesting tidbits, I plugged the phone in to recharge and then took up my vigil.

Schuldig slept the heavy sleep of the wounded, his bound arm tucked between his body and the back of the sofa. His face, relaxed in sleep, looked quite young. I revised my first estimate and put him at about twenty-one. A hard-worn twenty-one.

I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes, soaking in the sounds of the night. A distant car interrupted the crickets before fading into the distance. As if picking up a conductor's cue, the crickets' string section swelled once more, filling the early summer night with song.

Long distant summer nights drifted up in memory, nights of pleasure and uncertainty, and I smiled around my cigarette. I wondered if Schuldig had such memories, unbound by pain. Here, asleep on my sofa, he was just a man, a young man like me, who had fallen in with a very dangerous crowd. Surely his dreams couldn't be so different from my own.

Time spun away in that satisfying way time well-spent tends to do. Schuldig slept, I waited, and the world rolled on. In anticipation of sunrise, I turned the orchid toward the window and set the dish inside the curtain to catch the first rays. At the top of the window, a small spider busied itself with a fresh web. I wished it luck; I had the feeling it wouldn't catch much there, but to each its own.

I started gathering things in the kitchen, intent on some pan-fried noodles for breakfast and not wanting to make a lot of noise at it. As I chopped vegetables and set the noodles to soak, I heard a moan from the sofa. The codeine should have worn off not too long ago; I hoped he wasn't in too much discomfort. Concerned, I looked over at my guest.

Worry evaporated as I watched Schuldig, all tangled up in the bedding, roll onto his belly and start humping the sofa cushions.

I grinned and found myself a good vantage point. The noodles could cook on their own for a while, they didn't need a babysitter.

Schuldig had wrapped his good arm around his pillow and held it beneath him like a lover as his hips drove him against the cushions. His hair fell across his face, but every now and then I could see his parted lips through the fiery strands. His eyes were tight shut, leading me to believe he wasn't totally asleep anymore. My own breath quickened as I watched him take his pleasure at an increasing pace. He moaned from deep in his chest, and I gasped softly, caught in the erotic dance in spite of myself. My hand crept downward, and I found myself wondering if I had time to do anything about my delightfully unexpected hard-on. I had never witnessed something this erotic before: a former enemy, helpless and writhing on my sofa, filling the air with his groans.

When he came, my breath caught in my throat. He just seemed to stop, to hang suspended in time, hair a sensual tangle obscuring his face, a face I knew to be drawn in ecstasy at that very moment.

Before I could take my own need in hand, Schuldig seemed to shake himself free from his sensual dream. I didn't want him to know I'd been watching, not like this, anyway; I gave one apologetic squeeze and set about composing myself.

It wasn't easy. I wanted him, more than I'd ever wanted any man before him. Schuldig was beautiful, and sensual, and dangerously erotic, and he had captured my imagination too thoroughly to simply say goodbye. In order to get my body to behave, I promised it that I would not let this delicious man out of my life before tasting him, in every possible way.

I did not allow my thoughts to linger on why.

A/N nemurenai yoru mo, tameiki no asa mo  
kimi no daisuki na tsuki no uta o 

On sleepless nights, and on mornings when you have to sigh  
There's your beloved song of the moon

"Tsuki no Uta (The Song of the Moon)" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Omi Landlord**

Kono baka – You idiot (grumbled at himself for letting his sleepy imagination run away with him)

**Yohji Haven**

Yakuza – Japanese Mafia; organized crime

Neko-yo – Yohji's alias with this particular contact. Kitty-yo.

the Chin – fictional Chinese gang active in Japan

_**A LAST Special Note from GuiltyRed –**_

This is the final chapter of "The Rain Doesn't Grieve" to be posted on the public fanfiction sites.

The rest of the story will be posted through my livejournal and on my website – addresses for both are in my profile (or should be). Let me see if I can get away with writing them out…

Please come to "livejournal dot com", use the Search box to find the username "guiltyred underscore fics". It's all neatly set up through the "memories" function (the little red heart icon).

For the website, go to "hopeforlorn dot net" and into the "Fan Works" section. I'm in there, it links straight to my own site.

Again, the reasons for this move have to do with the policies of fanfiction dot net and my refusal to self-censor, or to play with groups who would even ask me to do so.

If you have any questions, concerns, or need a better map, please feel free to email me – "wersofthegrieve at aol dot com".

Thank you!

GuiltyRed

**_RedQueen_** – PL Nunn is indeed a goddess…

Yes, it's a bit disjointed at the moment – think how Omi must feel! And, think how much these four guys took for granted in the show: that they'd have a job tomorrow, that they'd have friends they could talk to, that they'd ever be able to retire…

And, before I dare apply the spurs, I have to make sure I have a good grip on the rigging…


	20. 20

**20**

_ shikirou kasanete  
kimi no kage, hiroiatsume_

**Omi - Call**

"I see. No, no, I quite understand. We'll replace those surveillance cameras right away. Thank you." I hung up the phone and stared at it. My mood was mingled annoyance and a weird kind of vindication.

The film had mysteriously degraded in the six hours between the first phone call and this one. Furthermore, Ty-so Security had no record of the attempted break-in. The guard who had called me had just been suspended for drinking on the job; he couldn't confirm a thing from his initial report.

I leaned on my cane and made my way to the kitchen, intent on feeding myself before giving matters any more thought. As it was, the whirling paranoia threatened to drag me under well before I started the water for tea.

It was him, I knew it was. I hadn't imagined the phone call at two this morning, and I was reasonably sure no one had gotten to me in the meantime. My forehead prickled with sweat. I didn't want to face this weirdness alone, but I had no idea who to invite to share it with me.

Manx didn't know about Schwarz, not that they had survived and probably not about their apparent odd abilities. Again I remembered the look on the Schwarz agent's face as I lay in the sand, before he hurried away to erase his tracks. He didn't want to be found. I didn't dare bring Manx into this; it would betray a trust that I wasn't prepared to risk, though I had no idea what it might mean.

I wanted to call Yohji, but he didn't want to come back to Kritiker.

I wanted to call Ken, but he wasn't even in the country yet.

I wanted to call Aya. But with Takatori Reiji gone, Aya blamed Schwarz for everything that had befallen his family. Fury and rage had replaced honor, turning amethyst to blood. I couldn't hand Aya the life of the gaijin, no matter what he had done.

With some effort I shook off the past, and with a thin smile turned my thoughts to the future. Someone had either screwed up, or sent me a message. Either way, I knew something that somebody didn't want me knowing. Schwarz was still in Japan, and in the middle of something that affected Takatori if not Kritiker. And someone was erasing Schwarz's tracks, to an interesting degree.

All right then. The next move was mine, and I would make it a good one. If this break-in matter was a bluff, I was calling – literally. I raised my phone and selected a number from its memory, a number I had never used before. At this point it didn't matter if the line were secure: in fact, let them listen.

"Thank you for calling Interpol. Please hold."

**Yohji - Host**

"Hope you like noodles for breakfast," I said as I brought Schuldig a cup of coffee and a glass of juice. He seemed to be tangled up in the bathrobe, his face bright with embarrassment. "You all right?"

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry about this," he mumbled, trying to get out of the bathrobe and not doing very well at it.

I set the drinks down and stripped the robe off him like he was a mannequin. The wet stain was unmistakable. Schuldig pulled the blanket across his lap as his face went true scarlet.

Laughing, I said, "That's all right, I pulled it out of the laundry basket anyway." It amazed me that he could be so easily flustered. It made him even more appealing, in an unexpected way. Here he was, one-time tough guy, looking like an embarrassed teenager.

Correction: a badly beaten up embarrassed teenager. Carefully I unfastened the bandage holding his arm still, then flexed the elbow and shoulder as he tried not to wince. I told him to move it around some to keep it from locking up, and I reminded him to take his medicine on time. I wadded up the robe and the bandage and tossed them in the bathroom before heading to my own room to find him some clothes. He'd need something loose-fitting to get over that arm… The first thing that came to mind was one of my favorite party shirts, a black midi that seemed to draw every eye to my belly. A grin snuck over me as I imagined how my suddenly shy guest would look in it. I found some compatible pants he could get into without using two hands, and called it good.

Schuldig had made it to the bathroom, which under the circumstances was no mean feat. He seemed to have a barbiturate hangover and didn't look too steady. Still, he needed some dignity. I'd listen for any problems, but I wasn't going to intrude. I set the clothes by the sink as I walked past. "See if these fit. I have to finish breakfast."

As I scooped noodles into our bowls, I saw Schuldig limping back to the couch. He'd managed to get into the shirt all right, though he kept his damaged arm tucked against his chest. If he hadn't been visibly injured, he'd have looked totally adorable in my clothes. Hell, even wounded he was a very attractive man. I hid my smile as best I could and carried our breakfast to the living room.

I brought him a fork with his bowl, since his business hand was basically useless. He worked his way through the noodles with methodical determination. At least his appetite wasn't off, I thought to myself, then smiled. Were any of my thoughts truly to myself around this guy?

"I have to hurry," Schuldig mumbled around a mouthful, "I have to get back."

"Hang on, there." I gave him a serious look. "You're not going anywhere like that. It'd be cruel of me to let you out that door. The codeine's worn off by now. Can't you just talk to them from here?"

He shook his head. "Still too risky."

I sighed, wanting to help but not understanding his world well enough. "I don't get it," I confessed. "You said it's like a radio, is it something they can intercept? The movies always have it as a closed-circuit kind of thing."

"Well, when it's working right, it's closed," Schuldig growled, his tone frustrated.

"Oh, so instead of having a private channel, it's like a cell phone. Anyone with the right kind of scanner can pick it up? Like a stronger telepath?" As I said this, I sent a little prayer to the gods of the foolhardy that my own cell phone calls hadn't been noticed. It was getting harder and harder to keep all the bases covered.

"Basically," Schuldig said with a vague nod. "It's hard to pinpoint location, but there's a chance I'd lead them right to the team, and it's a risk I'm not ready to take."

Then the simple answer presented itself, and I nearly smacked my forehead in dumb surprise. "Don't they have a phone?"

"Nope," Schuldig replied, his tone mildly disgusted. "Not that I'm authorized to use, even if I did know the number. Mr. Duct Tape on the Windows can't have any ringing telephones, either."

"Ch!"

Schuldig laughed. "No shit! Crawford works in mysterious ways."

In the momentary silence I lit up two cigarettes and handed him one, then asked, "Were you dreaming about him?"

"Um, no, not exactly," he hedged, his cheeks coloring.

"Sorry, had to ask," I said with a grin. "You put on a pretty good show, my friend."

Again he surprised me with a show of near virginal fluster. Schuldig looked away from me and said, "Sell tickets next time."

"I might," I murmured, eyes fixed on his pout. With his face flushed, his lips looked downright delightful.

The trill of my cell phone interrupted the moment. "Hai."

"Neko-yo, got your goods. Only news out there, yakuza boy and his mistress got themselves a love nest. He's keeping her hid real good. Expensive, Euro, real class, maybe a model. Contraband, most definitely. Two bodyguards, whole bunch of eyes on the street. They're locked in tight. I'd stay clear if I was you."

I switched to Cantonese, not particularly wanting Schuldig to catch what I told my contact. These guys knew the rival dialects, so it was an easy choice. "Runaway contraband, actually. I hear she's hiding out with her daddy, okay? Tell them she's safe." Switching back to Japanese I told him "thank you" and hung up. Turning toward my guest, I said, "It's cool, man. They're okay."

Schuldig blinked. "Beg pardon?"

I grinned, feeling decidedly superior for the moment. "I've got street contacts myself. I made a few calls while you were sleeping. It wasn't hard to get a message through."

The red-head glared a little. "Wait, wait. Are you telling me that you're in with the yakuza?"

I tried to put him at ease without giving him any more information than I had to. Better to keep a few things back, even from my new friend. "Well, not exactly, but as a detective I did have a fair number of informants, and you never know when they might come in handy. I sort of kept a few on retainer. Word on the street is the son of a high-level crime lord is shacked up with his mistress not far from here. Seems she's quite the looker. Tall, leggy." I grinned at him, unable to resist embellishing the story a little. "European. Red hair. Smokes like a chimney."

Schuldig seemed to pause and just stare at his cigarette as if my words only barely made sense. Then he looked sideways at me through his hair and said, "Nice."

Damn, he looked good like that! I cleared my throat and tried to get back on topic. "Hey, it keeps everyone away from you guys. No questions. They've got the whole area locked down tighter than an exclusive girl's school." I took a drag on my own cigarette, still grinning. "And if anyone goes poking their nose in, they're going to find a couple hundred armed street thugs just itching for some action. Your Crawford is a shrewd player, my friend, with or without a phone."

"So Nagi made it all right?" he asked, voice low.

I leaned back and blew smoke at the ceiling. "Well, from what you said, if he hadn't gotten back safely then none of them would be there, right? That caller told me that it's still business as usual, so apparently nothing has changed except your being here. I had my contact drop hints that the mistress is hiding out with a chaperone until the situation cools down a little."

Schuldig seemed to relax, but only slightly. He regarded me with sharp eyes and asked, "If you were me, how long would you hide out before going back?"

"I'd give it a full day, anyway. Wait till you can walk a straight line." I studied the way he was sitting, stiff and pained. His shoulder was still a wreck, would probably stay that way for a couple of weeks. Granted, he couldn't sit still that long, but he wasn't in any condition to go back out there just yet. Dead serious, I added, "Wait till you can run or fight, if you have to."

The red-head sighed and looked down. He flexed his right arm, winced. "So I guess you're stuck with me for a few more hours, anyway. That cool with you?"

"No problem, Schuldig. I have food, cigarettes, medicine, anything you need to get your shit together. Like I said, I won't let you out that door until you're functional." I realized what I'd just said, and added, "And I don't mean like that."

Schuldig laughed brightly in spite of his discomfort. "Right, right!"

We sat together on the sofa, enjoying the silence and our smokes for a couple of minutes. I'd been wanting to ask him something, confirm a suspicion I'd had, and this was probably as good a time as any to find out; I didn't pause to consider my motives. "So, Schuldig, you're gay, right?"

He turned his face away and mumbled, "What brought that up?"

Touchy response – painful question? Interesting. "Oh, I was about to ask you when the phone rang," I said, trying to keep it light. "You're with Crawford?"

"Oh. That." Schuldig stared at his hands and said nothing for several moments.

I hadn't intended to make him feel so awkward. "Gay is cool," I said, hoping to regain his trust. "Me, I go all ways."

"All? How so?" Schuldig asked, his mind no doubt wandering into hentai territory.

The answer came out as easily as if I'd been waiting for someone to tell. Maybe I had been. "I love women, and I love men. Totally, with no reservations: never had use for the damn things. But I have pretty strict standards. It has to be special, no matter who it's with." Memories of loves past reminded me of what I had to say next. "Usually it's only one night. But for that night, it's real."

Schuldig watched me closely, as if testing for truth in my words.

My cigarette kept time in spite of me, the fire hissing closer to my skin.

Schuldig fidgeted and murmured, "I guess you could call me gay." He took a sip of nicotine, let the smoke out slowly.

The half-truth brought me out of my reverie before my own cigarette could burn my fingers. "You don't like women?" I asked, curious what he was leaving out, and why.

"Let's just say, I won't with women."

End of discussion, then. I stubbed out my smoke and changed the subject. "How are you feeling? Need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Well, since you're here, may as well show you around." I helped him up, then made a grand gesture and said, "Welcome to my humble home. Here's the TV, help yourself. The remote lives here – don't lose it! The windows are tinted with safety blinds, so don't worry about being seen unless you lean right up close to the glass." I showed Schuldig the kitchen and left him there to rummage for a couple of minutes. "Feel free to feed yourself. I'd avoid the takeout box in the back of the fridge, I don't remember when I bought that."

As he busied himself poking around in my kitchen, I set about unstringing my razor-wire traps. Wouldn't do to have him run afoul of one – talk about adding insult to injury!

"So this is how normal folk live!" Schuldig murmured, sounding like he was right behind me.

But when I turned to answer him, I saw that he was still in the kitchen. "Did you say something?" I called, slightly uncertain now that I had heard any commentary at all.

"Uh, no," he stammered. Schuldig closed the cupboard door and joined me in the living room again. His gaze seemed drawn to my lonely orchid. He reached out his hand and lightly stroked the stem, then cupped the blossom with his fingertips. "What's this?"

"Cattelya orchid."

"I didn't know you could grow them in an apartment." He sounded impressed.

"They're not that hard." I turned the dish a little. "You have to keep turning them or they'll lean toward the sunlight."

"So being a florist is like being a detective? Something you just can't stop doing?"

I smiled sadly, fingers caressing the petals. There were too many things in my life I couldn't seem to just stop doing, no matter how hard I might wish otherwise.

Snapping out of my brief melancholy, I told him, "You can help yourself to some clothes, too. If any of them fit." I rummaged through my bedroom to find some things he might be able to use. I didn't know if he'd accept the offer, but the man needed something more than a midi and a pair of workout pants, and his own clothes had a date with the incinerator. In any case, he'd need footwear; I came back to the living room with a pair of sneakers and some socks. "Here, try these. Don't know if you noticed, but your shoes are trashed, too."

"I'm not surprised," Schuldig muttered. "For the record, I don't recommend climbing down a thorny vine in the middle of the night. Or any other time, for that matter." He took the sneakers and headed back to the sofa. I nearly laughed as he cranked down the laces. "Damn, Kudou! You have big feet," he grumbled, trying to get a workable fit from them.

"Not really, they actually match my height," I said, sprawling on the sofa and lighting a cigarette. "Your feet are just really narrow, that's all. So, what do you do in your off time, Schwarz?" I asked, reaching for the TV remote.

"Off time? What's that?" he bantered with a grin. "Back in the day, I'd try to watch a movie with Farfarello, until Crawford turned off the TV, things like that."

"What, he wouldn't let you guys rot your brains? It's okay, I've got satellite."

Schuldig laughed, a delightful sound. "No, you see, Crawford was always worried that Far would watch some movie and turn violent or something. Not that he trusted me to keep it from happening, either. I figured, Far was unpredictable at the best of times, may as well catch some cheap entertainment." I found myself scowling at an old memory, and Schuldig frowned. "That didn't sound good, did it. I'm sorry, man."

"No, no, it's all right," I whispered. "What's done is done."

Schuldig sighed and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "Done and gone, all of it. Brave new world, all that crap." He looked at me and asked, "Do you think they succeeded, Kudou? Did they bring about the birth of a new age, and we're just limping along in a dream of the past?"

I considered this, then shook my head. "No, I think it's deeper than that. Karma. The law of consequences."

"I can't follow that stuff. You should talk to Farfarello."

When someone claims they don't understand a philosophy, it usually means it unnerves them too much to dwell on it. The cool and collected German was spooked by the concept of karma? What an intriguing thought. I felt myself smile, and I wondered for a moment what sort of purpose he might have here. Clearly an unexpected one, since he was a classic non-believer. Was he paying a debt, or creating one?

And which was I?

**A/N:**

_shikirou kasanete  
kimi no kage, hiroiatsume _

The mirages pile up

Your shadows, I collect them

"Tsuki no Uta (The Song of the Moon)" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Omi - Call**

"Thank you for calling Interpol. Please hold." – Okay, for the record: I didn't actually call Interpol to see how they might answer the phone. I like to think of this as poetic license – that's my story and I'm sticking to it. ;

**Yohji - Host**

When Yohji speaks with his street contact in Cantonese, he is presuming that Schuldig doesn't know that language. Considering Schu's reputation as a slacker with the Japanese language, it's an easy assumption.


	21. 21

**21**

_I don't want anybody else…_

**Ran - Daydreams**

The clutter in my home seemed to shout at me, admonish me for allowing it to get so out of hand. I glared at it, having nothing better to offer at the moment.

In three days I would officially be a roommate; the idea annoyed me no end. Though I'd been moody about my recent isolation, living with Ken wasn't my idea of an ideal solution. Kritiker arranged for the necessary furnishings and other household supplies, though the apartment wasn't all that large to begin with. I felt crowded, and Ken hadn't even arrived yet.

The new futon sofa dominated the wall nearest the kitchen, while the dresser completed my living room's transformation into a makeshift bedroom. My favorite reading chair had been hauled into my bedroom, to occupy the other sunny spot in the apartment rather than get shoved into a dark corner where I'd never be able to use it.

The clean, spare lines of my home – destroyed, replaced with chaos. At least when we had lived above the flower shop we'd each had our own small apartment. Now I was condemned to share a perfectly good single with Ken, a man I knew to be a slob whenever he could get away with it. At least he could feed himself, though he wasn't nearly as good a cook as Yohji.

Yohji…

My head hurt. I lay down on the floor and stretched my back, trying to relax. The injuries from the tower still pained me, though they were fading day by day.

The injuries to my soul seemed determined to stay.

I'd seen things that day no sane man should be asked to witness, survived things no sane man could survive. I don't really believe in magic, at least when I'm awake and rational; in the deepest portions of my dreams, all bets are off. But what happened at that museum wasn't magic, it was something else, something dark and hidden and…human.

I had struck down the first of the cult leaders, in spite of his power. Ken had taken the second. Wild imaginings better suited to sleep swarmed over me, bringing a mid-day chill. A demon deferred will seek vengeance against those who sought to stop it. Would it come for us?

Had we truly stopped it?

"Baka," I growled. I didn't believe in demons. Three days, and Siberian would be bounding back into my life. That I could believe in, and it made my headache worse.

Though Yohji and I could barely be civil to each other half the time, at least the man was neat. And handsome. With a rakish smile and eyes that sparkled…

I closed my eyes again and concentrated on the wood floor pressing cool against my back. The headache faded a little as I tuned in to the rest of my body, willed myself to relax. With Yohji's cocky smile now haunting my thoughts, my mood veered from superstitious gloom to something like cheer.

I encouraged it to wander further in that direction. It wasn't as if one of my teammates were about to wander in and find me, though I knew all too well that, in a little under three days, this privacy would be a thing of the past.

Slowly I became aware of the shifting temperature currents in the room, as the sun heated bands of air before allowing them to drift back into the shadows. My hands slowly unfastened my shirt, letting it fall open across my chest. Sunlight slanted into the room, painting my skin with golden warmth. I sighed and allowed my thoughts to linger on Yohji's long legs, his casual grace, as my fingers trailed over my belly. This was my secret desire, one that I couldn't even imagine confessing. Of all the men I'd ever been attracted to, only Yohji seemed a realistic match. The others…

My eyes drifted shut as I pretended that the sensual touch came from another's hand, gliding low to press against the heat rising there before rising to caress the planes of my chest in a casual sweep. It had been years since I had known a lover, and my body ached for it. Self-denial had become so entwined with my life it had become invisible, a barely-remembered choice. The boys in school, the sweet kisses beneath the sakura trees, all swept aside with steel.

Then had come Yuushi. That affair had been explosive in so many ways. We had clashed with each other from the start; perhaps that was my version of foreplay. I smiled at the memory, my hands sliding down to unbutton my pants. His hands were always cool, not cold or clammy, just cool, like polished brass. Cool like his eyes, or his kisses.

Sleeping with a teammate had never been my idea of a smart thing to do, though I had most certainly done so, nearly dividing the Crashers in the process. But now things were different – I had blood on my hands now; my fantasy returned to images of my more recent team.

Ken, annoying as hell, with his jock demeanor and toilet humor – he insisted he was straight, though his record with ladies marked him as something more akin to a doormat. Attractive? I suppose so, in that loud way of his.

Yohji, he of the long legs and longer stare. I felt myself smile as I pictured him sprawled across the sofa in the briefing room. He certainly knew how to cover a piece of furniture.

Omi…

I rubbed the ache between my legs and forced my mind away from that direction. Omi…was Kritiker. End of discussion.

Ken, too, for that matter; he was coming back to complete a two-man team.

After Yuushi, I'd sworn to myself that I would never again complicate my life with a teammate.

Yohji wasn't Kritiker anymore. The complications wouldn't follow us.

He was fair game, and so was I.

I ran my tongue over my lips and lightly stroked my erection, imagining that Yohji was seated on the futon, watching me. Excitement sparked through me at the thought; my back arched, and I gripped myself more tightly. Yes, Yohji watching, a cigarette dangling casually from one elegant hand.

I cupped a hand under my balls, massaging them with a slow rolling motion as my other hand palmed the head of my cock and squeezed. A soft moan trailed from my throat to be swallowed up in the sunbeams – sunbeams curling like cigarette smoke in a fine haze toward the ceiling.

Imagination showed me a smiling Yohji, discarding his cigarette and moving to join me on the floor. My breath came quickly as my phantom lover rained kisses down my chest, moving lower until his lips brushed my cock and his hand replaced my own upon it.

The hand stroking me sped up, pulling my pleasure onward.

Yes, he would take me in hand, then into his mouth, which must be very skilled at every form of kissing. I brushed my thumb across the tip, sliding through the sticky wetness gathering there. My belly tightened, drawing my balls up as I repeated the caress, and again, imagining Yohji's tongue in place of my fingers.

My eyes flew open as I came without a sound, spilling onto the polished wood.

I lay there until my breathing slowed and the image of Yohji's smile faded a little. But only a little.

If my subconscious were trying to tell me something, I got the message. I wasn't sure if I would act on it, and if so when, but it certainly gave me a wonderful daydream.

Then I realized what I was thinking, and frowned.

I was making Yohji into a prime fantasy that I might or might not ever approach in real life. Did I really want some kind of relationship with the man? Or was it just about fulfilling some sexual curiosity?

At the moment it didn't matter. I wasn't about to invite more chaos into my life when I was days away from total upheaval. If circumstance put us in the right place together, I would let Fate decide. Until then, my fantasy version of Yohji would keep me company.

If only he could keep me warm as well.

**Yohji - Reality**

Schuldig dozed on and off throughout the afternoon while I pretended to watch television. Considering the lame programming on at the time, he probably got the better part of the deal.

When my guest seemed a little more clear-headed, I cleaned his wounds again and redressed his hands. The cuts looked infected; I found some fresh penicillin capsules and gave him one, after making sure he could take the nasty things. How something so vile-smelling could be so useful never ceased to amaze me.

His shoulder looked like sheer hell, but there wasn't anything more I could do for that besides dose him up with ibuprofen. He refused any more codeine, and I couldn't blame him – he couldn't afford to be incapacitated any worse than he already was.

I made a simple dinner, something he could travel on. It was obvious to me that he wanted to leave, and I really couldn't make him stay, no matter how much I wanted to. For one moment I considered calling Omi, taking Schuldig into the protective net of Kritiker, but then I came to my senses.

We ate in silence.

After dinner, I bagged up his wrecked clothes and anything else he'd bled on. Those would go to the incinerator: I had the creepy suspicion that I didn't want any DNA traces of his in my home. His shoes and leather pants, though torn, could still be a useful barrier between him and an enemy; I put those in another bag, along with some ibuprofen and penicillin.

Schuldig eyed the first bag and said, "I hope you're going to burn that."

My hackles went up, but I kept my tone light as I asked him, "Any chance someone will come here looking for you?"

Schuldig paled a little. "I sure the hell hope not."

"Yeah, I was going to burn it," I told him, that creepy feeling growing stronger by the moment.

Schuldig remained tense as we got to the car and hit the road. He seemed to be scowling, and I realized he must be concentrating on some kind of telepathy thing. Traffic seemed to part in front of me, as if pushed aside by the charisma of my car. I couldn't help but smile at the whimsy.

I coasted the Seven to a stop near the bar. "I'll look for you here in a couple of days," I told him. "Make sure you're mending okay."

"Do you want your clothes back?"

"You keep them," I said with a smile. "Give you something to think about." Give _me_ something to think about, was more like it. Under other circumstances, I would take him dancing in those clothes, then toss them aside in a tangle of black.

Schuldig stared at me a moment, then leaned over and kissed me swiftly on the mouth. I kissed back, desperately regretting this goodbye already. "Be safe, Kudou," he murmured against my lips.

"Watch your back," I replied, forcing myself to let him go. I groped for something else to say. "And remember to go slow with the kid, right?"

He smiled. "I remember." Schuldig paused as if waiting for me to leave first, so I did, not looking back.

**Ken - Fetish**

I marked off another day on my calendar, though it was still early. I couldn't wait to get back home, even if home wasn't what it used to be.

My muscles ached from lack of work, though I'd been exercising. Lifting weights is no substitute for combat. Though I wasn't really looking forward to sharing an apartment with Aya, I did look forward to sharing work with him again. It would be weird without the others, but I had the feeling that Yohji wouldn't hold out too much longer. He'd get that magnetic pull toward the team again, and then we'd be three strong, hunting the dark beasts as we alone could do.

I grinned at my reflection in the mirror. My reflection grinned back, confident in its appearance. I didn't look spacey or scared anymore, and my hair covered the scars in my scalp. The medications to keep me from having seizures seemed to be working, or else the doctors had managed to fix everything during one of the operations. I felt fantastic, if a bit rusty.

Rusty – oh hell! I sat down hard on the chair and gaped, not wanting to think about this but unable to look away.

My bagh nakh! They'd been in salt water, and sand, and gods know what else! And I hadn't been there to clean them in weeks! "Oh, man!" I groaned, miserable at the thought that my weapon, a part of my soul, had not survived our last battle.

Sure, Kritiker could fix me up with a new set, but I'd kind of grown fond of those. They'd saved my life more than once. It really bothered me to think of them tossed aside as so much scrap.

First things first, I reminded myself. In three days I'd be back in Japan. I'd have a new apartment, a grouchy roommate, and my job back. Omi would have to make sure I had a decent weapon before he sent me out, so that would take care of itself. If I have to break in a new set of claws, then that's what I'll do.

But first I'm getting my wheels out of storage.

**A/N:**

_I don't want anybody else…_

"I Touch Myself" – Divinyls _Divinyls_

**Ran - Daydreams**

No wonder the man hasn't been dating – he's fixated on an unattainable ideal. Then again, this IS Aya we're talking about…

**Yohji - Reality**

Schuldig and the Seven seem to be getting along better now. That's a good thing, as they're both sharing the same man.

**Ken - Fetish**

A fetish is the belief that a material object brings good fortune (it can also be the object itself). It can also mean an inappropriate sexual obsession. Neither rules the other out.


	22. 22

**22**

_Hope was wasting away. Faith was wasting away. I was wasting away._

**Ken - Unluck**

This was too much! I rounded on Omi with a snarl. "What do you mean, I can't have my bike back?"

Omi sighed and looked genuinely hurt. Then again, he always was good at that. "Ken-kun, it's on your doctor's orders. I'm sorry."

"Fuck you!" I shouted. "I'm getting out of here, I'm getting on my motorcycle and getting the hell away from this shit!"

"Ken, you can't. I'll have you arrested if you even try."

I stopped halfway to the door and turned. Omi showed no expression at all, just an even, calm stare. "Arrested?" I mumbled. "What for?"

"You're on medication for seizures, Ken. You can't legally operate any kind of motor vehicle."

"Fine, then I'll stop taking them," I offered, though I had the awful feeling that it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.

"Ken-kun," Omi said, rising from his seat, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well I'm sorry too." I turned and stormed through the door.

**Omi - Toughlove**

"That didn't go very well." Aya's tone held no condemnation, only fact.

I sighed and sat back down, my mind replaying the last three hours in fast forward mode. In spite of Aya's coldness when I'd told him about his new roommate, I'd decided to drop in on them and bring them a sort of housewarming gift: just a basket with snacks and some toiletries, things I knew each of them liked.

To my surprise, Aya had even smiled at my gift. I could almost believe he'd smiled at me.

The three of us talked and ate, and two of us even laughed, so that I felt as if we were back in the flower shop again. For a few wonderful moments, I was just Omi.

Everything had been fine until Ken started talking about his motorcycle.

I couldn't believe the hospital staff hadn't told him. Then again, maybe they did. Ken's powers of denial were always formidable if the news didn't suit him. No, he had to hear it from me. And telling my best friend he could never drive again was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do.

"Hey." Aya offered me a fresh cup of tea. "Let him go. He'll cool off eventually."

I sighed and took the cup. Steam danced above the amber liquid. "All things cool eventually," I murmured, not sure where that statement had come from but knowing it as true.

"If he can't drive, can he still fight?" Aya asked, always one for business first.

"That's another thing," I told him. "He's out of practice, badly. We'll need to break him in carefully, get him back up to speed."

"And I'm his nanny."

I glared at Aya, tired of his grousing. "No, you are not. You will be Ken's backup until such time as he is reliable again."

"What about his gear?"

"I'm having it sent over this evening. I didn't want it to be here waiting for him."

"I can see why."

For a moment we both contemplated the steam rising from the tea, cups cradled in our hands. Then Aya sighed and asked, "Do you want me to go look for him?"

"No," I replied, "that would only make things worse. If he's not back by morning, give me a call."

"Would you really have him arrested?"

I considered this for only a moment before stating, "Yes, I would. If he did something as reckless as driving a motorcycle while on this medication, I most certainly would have him arrested. For one thing to keep him from hurting anybody, and hopefully to give him time to come to his damn senses."

Apparently satisfied, Aya changed the subject. "Any word on new recruits?"

"I'm holding off for now. We've got enough to deal with just getting Ken combat-ready."

Aya glowered at me. "What's the real reason?"

I set down the tea cup and regarded him with concern. How much did I want to say, here? I'd consulted my bug finder when I'd arrived at Aya's apartment, but that creeping paranoia still cautioned me to tread gently. "That rift between friends is still a problem," I stated. "Until that's fixed, there's really no point bringing new faces into the situation."

"I see. When you have a target, let me know."

"You'll be the first." I levered myself up from the chair and gripped my cane. "I have to be getting back now. It was good seeing you, Aya-kun."

Aya's cool mask seemed to flicker a moment, a hint of warmth stealing into his eyes. Or maybe that was just my own wishful thinking. "Take care."

My back hurt just enough to hobble me as I limped toward the door. "See if you can talk some sense into Ken-kun, would you please?" I asked, gazing up at Aya. I wanted to ask him something else, but I knew I couldn't.

"All right. But you know he doesn't listen to me very well."

"I know." Inspiration made me smile, and I added, "If all else fails, try calling Yohji. He can help you pin Ken to the floor and sit on him till he passes out."

A faint smile touched Aya's pale lips. "Teamwork."

"Teamwork."

**Yohji - Detective**

"Hai?" I mumbled into my phone as I finished dressing for the evening. It was about time for Schuldig to turn up at the bar again, and I wanted to get there as soon as possible. He should be there in the next three or so nights, if all went well.

"It's Aya. Got a minute?"

I almost dropped the phone. Of all the people who could have been calling me, I hadn't expected to hear from him! "Sure, what's up? How's your new roommate?"

"That's why I'm calling. He got in a snit and left this afternoon. Haven't seen him since. Omi made me promise to call him if Ken didn't turn up by morning. I thought you might keep an eye out for him, before he pulls something stupid."

I sighed, wishing I hadn't answered the damn phone. Then again, these guys were like family: we helped each other out of tough spots with no outside interference. Of course, families also tend to barge in on otherwise pleasant evenings.

"Where do you think he went?" I asked, trying to get into a Ken frame of mind.

"He's pissed off about his bike," Aya stated. "Omi has it locked up so he can't get at it."

"Really?" This was news to me. "Locked up?"

"Ken's on anti-seizure medication. He can't drive."

"Oh." Understanding dawned through a trace of lingering fog. "Oh! Shit, I bet he's furious!"

"He yelled at Omi. What do you think?"

Omi and Ken had been best friends since they met on the team. The thought of them at odds with one another just didn't set well.

I had to remind myself that Omi was now Persia, and that meant all bets were off. Damn.

A map started to form in my mind, centering on Aya's apartment and spiraling out to the places an angry Siberian might go. "I'm on it," I stated into the phone. "I'll call you if I find anything." Hastily I hung up and grabbed my car keys, then sprinted for the garage.

The evening air clung warm and muggy as I made a quick stop at the bar. If Schuldig were there, I could make my excuses and get on with the search. Then again, I could take him with me, have him help look. "Baka!" I muttered at myself, hopping out of the car and heading for the door. There was no way that taking Schuldig with me on a hunt for a missing Ken could possibly constitute a good idea.

This still didn't temper the rush of disappointment at not finding the red-head inside. I promised myself I'd check again later and returned to the street.

"Come on, Ken, where did you go?" I grumbled aloud, then silenced myself with a cigarette. If it were earlier in the day, I'd look for him near a soccer field. Maybe he'd gone there, and was only now leaving? I had no better suggestion, so I aimed for the nearest playing field.

This one was near a small school, and quite empty.

Over the course of an hour I checked every known haunt, only to find no trace of him. I got to the point that I'd have been less surprised to run into Schuldig than to find Ken. I was starting to worry.

Worry…Ken was worried that something crucial to his life was being taken away from him. Without a second thought I spun the wheel and sped off, hoping I was wrong.

The storage company had long since gone out of business, its reputation ruined by organized crime and recurring bad fortune. I parked by the gate and paused, listening.

The night breeze whispered, but no other sound floated my way. That didn't mean much, but at least it suggested a degree of privacy. I pocketed a small flashlight, got out of the Seven and approached the padlocked gate. It was climbable, even for someone not trained in the art of breaking and entering. I eased myself over the top of the fence and looked around.

When we had gone after the Creeper gang, what we hadn't known of Ken's past had become open knowledge, laying a rub of salt on old wounds. This place had been the site of his friend's betrayal – correction, his second betrayal, if not more. My instincts told me that Ken would either come here, or go to the small church Miss Ruth had once called home.

Carefully, quietly, I prowled around, looking for my wayward friend. Ken had always turned to his motorcycle the way I turned to the Seven: a magical steed to bear one away from all problems for just a few breathless moments. I could only imagine his anguish at Omi's news; if I couldn't drive, I'd feel utterly helpless.

"Go home, Yohji."

I looked up. Ken sat at the edge of the roof, watching me. "Oi, Ken! Let's talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

I sighed and began looking for handholds. Soon I joined Ken on the rooftop and sat down next to him. "Aya called."

"That's nice." Ken picked a piece of roofing loose and tossed it to the ground.

"He told me what happened."

"Great, now everyone knows! Tell me, Kudou, how did you get here? You see, I walked; can't blow off steam on a bus."

I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and let the smoke drift into his face. "It's not a death sentence, Hidaka. Stop acting like such a martyr! So you can't drive for a while, big deal. You've got my number, and your roommate has a car."

"For a while? What, you think this is temporary?" Ken glared at me and flung another piece of shingle off the roof. "You think that one day I'll be all better, and they'll let me have a motorcycle again? That's bullshit, Yohji, and you know it!"

"I think," I growled back, "that anything is possible, so long as you don't give up. You're well enough to climb buildings in the middle of the godforsaken night, aren't you?"

Ken ran a hand across his face; the hand shook. "But what if they're wrong? What if I'm not all right, Yohji? I thought everything was going to be the way it was, but none of it's the same! Until Omi told me I couldn't drive anymore, I was really thinking that things were gonna be okay. But now? I'm scared shitless."

"You're cleared for combat, right? That has to mean something."

I knew I'd said the wrong thing the moment it left my mouth.

His eyes bright with anger, Ken snarled, "Yeah, I'm good enough to fight but I can't be trusted to get myself around. What about you, Kudou? Why haven't you come back? It's not much of a team, just half a team."

"I've already told Persia my stand on that," I told him, my tone warning. "I'm not coming back. I won't turn away from a friend in need, but I draw the line at missions. Period."

"And if I fail, Weiß is finished."

"You won't fail, you're just scared. Worried," I emphasized, recalling my search for him. "You'll find your way, Ken. We all do. Your way happens to lie with Kritiker right now, and with Aya. Just trust it for once."

"I hope he's at least getting me some new weapons," Ken growled, not even seeming to follow the conversation anymore. "No bike and rusty claws, may as well just shoot me."

"Ken, have I ever steered you wrong?" I asked, searching his eyes for some sense of reason. If he wasn't going to listen to me, I didn't want to waste my breath.

"No, you haven't," he murmured, looking away from me.

"Go back home, go to bed, get some sleep. This is your first night back in Japan. Be confident about yourself, Ken. Don't let this evening set the tone for the rest of your life."

"I thought Omi was my friend," Ken grumbled.

"Omi is your friend," I replied, "but Ken, sometimes you have to piss off your friends to save their lives. When I was just out of the hospital, I didn't drive, either. I took the bus, or walked." Holding his gaze, I told him, "Don't let a motorcycle get in between you and Omi. It isn't worth it."

Ken heaved a sigh and nodded. Moving cautiously, he eased himself down from the roof. "Oi, Yohji?"

"Hai?"

"Give me a lift?"

A/N:

_Hope was wasting away. Faith was wasting away. I was wasting away._

"The Great Disappointment" – AFI _Sing the Sorrow_

**Ken - Unluck**

Seizures and driving don't mix. Ken is getting one hell of a reality check.

**Omi - Toughlove**

Here we have another glimpse of Persia's son, the Takatori with a heart of gold. He has to be tough as nails about this; it can't be easy to call the cops on a friend…

**Yohji - Detective**

Yohji does have an uncanny knack for solving mysteries. Either that, or there's something between him and Ken that binds their souls together. Or both.


	23. 23

**23**

_Who can it be knocking at my door?_

**Omi Tattoo**

I took the stairs slowly, one at a time. I'd managed to wait a day and a half since my last disastrous attempt at reclaiming the past, and now I found I wasn't in any real hurry anymore. Yohji didn't have the same baggage as the others, but he had his share. And he had no special love for Kritiker.

This apartment had been his babe lair back when his real home was with us, over the flower shop. I'd known about it, of course; we kept it on our security grid just in case. But until today, I'd never known exactly what it looked like. I'm not sure what I expected; the place seemed a little run down on the outside, and that surprised me. Then again, it did have its own secure garage. That was probably the selling point for Yohji.

As I raised my hand to knock, I noticed a crumble of wax along the door edge. I frowned. That seemed a little paranoid, marking one's door like that. Then again, I couldn't resist checking my anti-spy gadget before knocking. Paranoia wasn't always a bad thing.

Yohji answered my knock quickly, as though he were expecting someone. "Omi! Hello! Come in!" He gestured me inside, then sprinted back to the kitchen. "I was just fixing some lunch, care to join me?"

"Lunch for two?" I asked, casting a wary eye about the apartment. Something didn't seem right.

"I always make extra. It makes a great midnight snack."

"Oh. Thank you, yes." I searched for some piece of furniture that I could get onto and off of without too much difficulty, settled on a barstool by the kitchen counter.

"It's great to see you," Yohji said. "I ran into Ken the other night. It's starting to feel like a reunion."

"I'd like to ask you about that, if you don't mind." I caught his gaze and said, "We need you back, Yohji."

"No."

I consulted my bug detector again, then stated, "At least hear me out. If you don't want to come back to active duty, may I use your skills as a consultant? I need help, and you're the only one I can turn to."

He frowned as he scooped noodles into two bowls. "Do you want to eat in here, or at the table?"

"Here, if you don't mind," I told him. "It's hard for me to move much today."

He handed me a bowl, then asked, "How bad?"

"I'm in physical therapy every day, and taking more pills and shots than someone my age should have to be. Some days are better than others. This isn't one of them."

"Is it the weather?" he asked.

I considered my history so far, only having a couple of months to go on. "It might be. Is it supposed to rain later?"

"It's thinking about it, but I don't think it will. They can't predict with any accuracy." He glanced away, toward the door. "What kind of consulting?"

My mouth full of noodles, I waved a hand at him to give me a moment. I'd missed his cooking more than I'd realized. Once I could speak like a civilized person and not a ravenous dog, I said, "I need this recipe." I kept my tone serious and my expression stiff, though a giggle lurked right behind the words.

"You need me as a lunch consultant?" Yohji grinned. "Now that I can do!"

And then we both laughed as though the past few months had never happened. Yohji reminded me of why Weiß had become more than family to me: each one of us filled some need in each of the others. Between me and Yohji there had grown a brother-bond, not like the one I had with Ken but just as strong. Yohji had become my protector, my confidant, while Ken had always been my best friend first.

Of course, when Aya had joined us the entire balance shifted, but that was then.

Yohji leaned against the counter and leisurely ate his lunch before speaking again. As he wiped the oil from his lips, he repeated his question. "What kind of consulting? I'll listen, but I'm not promising anything."

"You used to be a detective before you joined Kritiker," I stated. "You taught yourself to think around the corners, to find things that were lost or hidden. I need that. If you won't come back, then teach me."

My host scowled softly. "Teach you? But you've got all the resources of Kritiker at your beck and call. Why me?"

"Those resources have been compromised." My own paranoid habit acted itself out again, checking the bug detector, nodding at the reassuring green light on the tiny cell phone screen. "I don't know if it's an internal leak or an external attack, all I know is I can't trust anyone without proof that they're secure." I showed him my gadget. "I made this myself. It picks up on any unexplained signals. This is serious, Yohji. I wouldn't ask otherwise."

Yohji sighed and regarded the ceiling. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. His short sleeve rode up, revealing his self-chastising tattoo: _When you gonna learn?_

I got to my feet. "Thank you for lunch, Yohji," I whispered. I didn't need to hear him say "no": that inked reminder had said it for him. "Maybe we can get together from time to time. I really did miss your cooking."

As I started toward the door, Yohji stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. The familiarity almost surprised me. "Can I see that cell phone?"

I took it out of my pocket and handed it to him. Yohji studied the device a moment, then asked, "How do you work it?"

After a quick tutorial, he made a circuit of his apartment, through every room and back. He handed me the gadget. "What do you need?"

My heart skipped a beat. Ever since taking on the mantle of Persia, I had felt my connection with my teammates slipping further away, and in that one gesture, Yohji had brought it all back together. "Where does one begin to look for an invisible enemy? I've traced the computer break-ins and a series of radio transmissions to exactly nowhere. It's like tracking a ghost."

Yohji looked thoughtful for a moment. He started pacing, and I knew that was how he kicked his brain into gear: with motion. He paused at the window, turning a potted flower that I hadn't noticed before. It was a cattelya orchid, a white one. I smiled at the sight of it.

"Tracking a ghost," he murmured. "What kind of information are they getting? It doesn't give us much, but it's a start."

"The last mission," I stated. "Esset."

**Yohji Dangerous**

I stared at him, the word echoing in my head. He couldn't know about Schuldig, could he? Hell, how could he miss it? He was Persia now; even as Bombay he'd have turned up something, and I doubted that the Takatori parking garage could have been totally unmonitored. Was he here to test me, see how much I was willing to tell him?

Two could play that game. I paused to light a cigarette, then asked, "What do you think they're after? Us? Or something else?"

"That's the crazy part," he said with a stiff shrug. "Usually when someone hacks into a system, they leave footprints, and those tend to point in a single direction. This is the first time I've encountered a trail like this. It feints, it veers, it vanishes, leaving the data undisturbed but probably copied. The hacker is mimicking a non-destructive worm, winding into damn near every corner of the mainframe. Every computer with a connection to it is compromised. Every one, Yohji."

I whistled low, a surprised sound. "The police databases? The defense force?"

"Interpol."

"Damn." Before my eyes could betray my reaction, I turned back toward my flower and checked the soil. If Esset had gotten into the Kritiker mainframe, and through that had breached security with each computer we had ever contacted, this was worse than bad. Kritiker could be framed for espionage, or worse. Wars have started for less.

How badly did Esset want Schwarz back, and did they think Kritiker was hiding them?

"Every time I start to isolate their signal, it evaporates like it was never there. Next time it shows up, it's in a different area of the system. I can't tell exactly what the target is, and without that, I can't protect us."

An idea occurred to me, an idea that I couldn't identify as good or bad just yet. Keeping my words slow and calm, I asked, "Omi, do you remember that time that Schwarz hacked into the Weiß mission computer? They were setting us up for Schreient."

"How could I forget?" Omi said. "They did the impossible, and I never…" His voice trailed off, and he looked at me with wide eyes. "I never managed to track the signal."

I reminded myself to tread cautiously here. "Do you think that kid and your hacker might have had the same training?"

"The technique is similar, though modified to take advantage of the larger system. And Schwarz were adding data, not copying it. But it does make sense. Is that your hunch, Yohji? Esset wants to know who we are now, so they're digging around in our computers?" He looked skeptical, but I couldn't tell of what part.

"Well, until you can pinpoint just what they're really after, that would be my best guess," I told him. "Sorry I can't do much more for you. You're the computer whiz. I'm the people person."

"Right. I'll keep you posted, if I can. Thanks again for lunch, Yohji-kun," Omi said, once more getting ready to leave.

This time I didn't stop him.

As I watched him limp away toward the stairs, I couldn't stop wondering where he and I fit into the picture now. Was he someone I had to answer to? Was he still just my friend?

Was I a potential threat?

What would he do if I were?

That question hinged on the first two, and for the first time in my life I wasn't sure of the answers.

**Omi Persia**

I had only intended to warn Yohji about Esset, and maybe get a little advice on how to approach the problem.

Now I couldn't shake the suspicion that he'd already known.

He'd answered the door as though expecting company…

And I know that he wasn't expecting me.

A/N: 

_Who can it be knocking at my door?_

"Who Can It Be Now?" – Men At Work _Business As Usual_

**Omi Tattoo**

It's so obvious how much Omi misses his team. And it's sad that Yohji has become his last resort – he'd rather turn to Ken for support, but since last chapter, that's not very likely at the moment.

**Yohji Dangerous**

Paranoia, or a keen sense for traps? Either way, Yohji suspects that Omi knows more about the situation than he's letting on. Question is, how much does he trust his former teammate now that he bears the name Takatori and the title Persia?

**Omi Persia**

And how much does Omi trust Yohji now?


	24. 24

**24**

_I cannot leave here. I cannot stay._

**Yohji - Options**

It never did rain that night. The heavy feeling of impending storms could have come from me, rather than the sky. I couldn't stop thinking about Omi's visit.

_Persia's_ visit.

Damn.

I stayed up past dawn, trying to sort it all out. All I got for my troubles was a sore throat from smoking too much and a mild headache from lack of sleep. Neither of these surprised me. I finally went to bed after most people had gotten up and commuted to their peaceful, normal jobs.

But after a few fitful hours of half-attended sleep, I gave up and made myself a late breakfast. I'd call it lunch, but that implied some kind of morning before it, and that just wasn't the case. Sometimes bad sleep was worse than no sleep, and this was one of those days.

It didn't help that I was out of eggs. I'd have to go shopping today, not one of my favorite activities but one I tended to be fairly good at. There was a time when I used to scope out potential new girlfriends at the store, picking someone up based on the contents of their shopping basket, but now I just wanted to buy some food and get back home.

When had living alone become such a burden?

I took my time, making a grocery list while I cleaned up my dishes. All I seemed to have was time. Time to think.

Omi needed my help.

Persia didn't trust me.

Should I have told him about Schuldig? Was there any chance in hell that Schwarz was actually still working for Esset, and had engineered the breach of Kritiker's security? But why? The redhead seemed honestly frightened, and more than a little lost. Telepath or no, I didn't think he could be that good an actor.

By the time I parked at the store, the afternoon heat was as oppressive as my thoughts. I decided not to bother trying to cook anything else today and just get take-out. That would mean another trip for groceries in a couple of days, but that seemed the better choice at the moment. I hurried through the store, only picking up the barest necessities before heading out to my favorite Chinese restaurant.

It was one of those tiny shops, hidden away from casual view. If you didn't know about it, you'd never find it.

Asuka loved this place.

_Had_ loved this place.

For a moment I debated going somewhere else. Then reason, fueled by hunger, made my choice for me.

Inside the restaurant, the air blew crisp and chill. The afterschool crowd had just left, the early dinner crowd had not yet arrived. For the moment, I had the place to myself.

"Order me the chicken chop suey, Yohji!"

I turned toward the cheerful voice – and found myself facing a narrow mirror. Asuka's shadow seemed permanently burned into the glass. How many times had we stood here, her arm linked through mine, that delighted smile on her sprightly face? Always she demanded chop suey. Always she changed her mind by the time we were seated.

The waiter smiled expectantly. "Table for one?"

I sighed. "Yeah. No – I need to place an order for carry-out." I didn't need to see the menu, I'd had the thing memorized for years. Still, out of habit, I ordered for Asuka: but not the chop suey.

While I waited for my food, my mind went over that talk with Omi one more time. He wanted me to come back to Kritiker, there was no doubt about that. He said he needed me, but why? As a detective? As a confidant? As a friend? If I couldn't be sure of my role anymore, what business did I have sticking around?

Maybe it was time to leave this town, just pack up and leave it all behind me. I had more than enough money saved up to move damn near anyplace on the planet, and I could go back to detective work. Hell, with everything I'd learned through Kritiker, I could work for Interpol.

Interpol.

"_Every computer with a connection to it is compromised…"_

Esset could very well start World War III, and Kritiker would be powerless to stop it. Hell, Kritiker would probably take the fall. Knowing this, what was my responsibility?

"Here you go, enjoy!"

I stared dumbly a moment before realizing my order was ready. I took the little bag and thanked the waiter. As I passed the mirror by the door, I thought I saw Asuka throw him a kiss.

I didn't want to return to Kritiker. True, I had entertained the thought of seeking a non-lethal assignment with them, but the truth of the matter was I really couldn't bring myself to be associated with them anymore. Even if that meant burning bridges behind me.

Even if that meant burning friendships.

"…_all I know is I can't trust anyone without proof that they're secure... This is serious, Yohji. I wouldn't ask otherwise."_

Persia didn't trust anyone.

Omi trusted me without hesitation.

Damn it.

**Manx - Understudy**

"Are you certain I'm ready for this?" The young agent smoothed down her skirt and fidgeted with her hair.

I smiled reassuringly at her. "Of course you're ready. It's not like I'm throwing you in without backup, after all."

She laughed nervously. "What's he like, really?"

The elevator chimed its arrival. I used the time to collect my thoughts as the doors opened; three field agents hurried out on their way back from the firing range. I smiled as they passed. Though they weren't specialists, they would willingly put their lives on the line for Kritiker, and that meant much. We stepped into the empty elevator and I pushed the button for the parking garage.

Only after we started moving did I speak. "He's younger than you'd expect, but never forget that he served with Kritiker's lethal unit for several years. And never mistake his manners for softness." I looked over at my trainee, allowed myself to stare until she seemed uncomfortable. When she glanced at me, I held her gaze and said, "And never lie to him. About anything, no matter how trivial it may seem. If you dine with him and you detest the soup, don't tell him it was delightful. It is crucial that he trust his staff. We are the connection between him and the rest of the organization."

The doors whispered open once more, showing the well-lit garage. Without waiting for her comment, I led the way to my car.

We traveled in silence: the novice tense and excited, and me wrestling with my judgment. Was she really ready to join the ranks of the most trusted agents in Kritiker? My experience said yes. Her eyes said otherwise.

Of the two, I would trust my own experience over her lack thereof. Besides, she had to start somewhere, and of all the agents I screened, only this one had what it takes to fill this post. With any luck, mine would not be the only opinion in her favor.

When we arrived, I escorted my trainee to the door. Another agent showed us inside, to the rustic and comfortable sitting room.

Our host stood by the window, his back toward us. Slanting sunlight cast him in silhouette.

"Good afternoon, sir," I said, indicating my companion should bow with me though our host wasn't watching us.

"Good afternoon, Manx," came the reply.

The young woman beside me seemed stuck in her bow, and her face registered surprise at the youthfulness of the voice. I felt almost guilty that the theatrics had been prearranged, but it was necessary. While we stood there, a dozen electronic devices were scanning and analyzing, making certain that we had brought no uninvited guests along with us.

Apparently we were clear. He turned and walked toward us, smiling.

I smiled too. Lately it seemed we could have an entire conversation without words, and today was no different. I addressed my trainee. "Rex-san, may I present Persia."

**A/N:**

_I cannot leave here. I cannot stay._

"This Time Imperfect" – AFI _Sing the Sorrow_

**Yohji - Options**

Yohji is the most clearly haunted character I've run across in a long time. Is Asuka's ghost the genuine article, or a manifestation of his guilt, his fear of another deadly mistake?

Is there really a difference?

**Manx - Understudy**

Enter Rex. I don't know what the canon suggests for her career, but I plan to use her to good advantage.

I think Manx may have finally finished that letter, though she has yet to present it.


	25. 25

25

_You make me feel brand new…_

**Yohji - Secret**

As I parked the Seven and juggled my groceries and takeout, I thought about the air conditioner running in my apartment and the chilled beer in the refrigerator. On a hot day like this, the lure of cool comfort pulled me onward. I might go out later in the evening, once the temperature started to dive, but until then I intended to barricade myself at home and maybe even organize my music collection. I grinned at myself as I climbed the stairs. Every few months I swore I'd put the piles of CDs into some kind of order. It hadn't happened yet.

I reached my door and paused, the hand holding the key slowly returning it to the security of my pocket. Someone had been here: the tiny scrap of paper I'd balanced between the door and the frame had fallen to the hallway floor, and the doorknob looked like it had been wiped clean.

Casually, as though I'd heard something vaguely interesting in the distance, I looked around, checking the hallway and the stairs for any movement or shadows. If my visitor were inside waiting for me, I didn't want any innocent bystanders getting caught up in things. And you never knew when trouble might have backup. Only after convincing myself that I was indeed alone did I turn my attention back to the door. I set my bags down and put my ear to the wood.

Silence.

Moving slowly, I took hold of the doorknob. If they'd left the door open, then they were probably thieves or looking for something, and no longer present. But, if it's locked –

The knob didn't turn.

I tested the release on my watch, grimacing at the thought of using the wire without gloves. Hopefully that wouldn't be necessary. There was always the chance that one of my former teammates or street contacts had stopped by and helped themselves to my hospitality.

But then, why clean the doorknob?

_Schuldig._

It made sense. Of all the people I knew who might be waiting inside, only he would have bothered to wipe away his fingerprints. And he had reason to stay quiet, whereas Ken would have turned on the television while waiting for me to get back.

For a moment I thought about Omi's visit, and Esset. Then I told myself that, if I did have an Esset agent in my apartment, they already knew I was out here. Fine, then. If this was an invitation to talk they had my attention.

I really didn't think that was the case: my money was on Schuldig. Still, I proceeded with extreme caution. I slid the key into the lock while holding the doorknob still to prevent any unnecessary sound. As I turned the key, I listened closely for any reaction from inside the apartment. Then, bracing myself for a fight, I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

No one jumped me as I entered my home, and at first glance nothing seemed out of place. I pulled my bags in after me, not wanting them to sit out in the hallway and attract attention. Stepping carefully to keep from making noise, I readied a loop of wire and moved to where I could survey my living room.

My heart skipped when I saw the figure on the sofa: that was no redhead, and it wasn't one of my former teammates!

Just as quickly, recognition kicked in and my reaction faded away. It was indeed Schuldig: he'd dyed his hair brown.

Letting out the breath I'd been holding, I released the wire back into my watch and took off my shoes. I felt a little like one of the three bears coming home to find someone in their bed. I also felt angry that he'd managed to unnerve me, I was overheated, and my dinner was probably soggy by now. More abruptly than strictly necessary, I pushed the door shut with a loud click.

Schuldig nearly jumped off the couch at the sound, looking around wild-eyed and reflexively reaching for a pistol. He stopped with a wince and pulled his right arm close to his side, feigning casualness.

"That wasn't very nice," Asuka chided, though she, too, had been a little scared. We hadn't had a break-in in a long time, but we knew how dangerous those could be. And ever since I joined Weiß I'd realized that burglary against a Kritiker agent was usually a cover for darker things.

I ignored her and hauled my bags to the kitchen; hopefully she'd take the hint and drop the subject. To Schuldig I asked, "What brings you here, more trouble with the missus?"

My guest gave a nervous little laugh as he followed me. Clearly I'd scared the crap out of him too – at least we were even on that count. "No, not today," he said. "Team needed to be sans telepath for a little while, so I took a walk."

I put away my groceries, then set about serving dinner. Basically this meant sticking a pair of chopsticks into one of the take-out boxes before hauling everything back out to the table in the living room. I offered a second pair of chopsticks to Schuldig and said, "It's Chinese take-out, if you want some. I always get doubles." For a moment I wondered if I'd somehow known he'd be here, but I knew it was only force of habit that had made me buy extra.

Schuldig didn't seem put off by the coincidence of a ready meal – hell, he was probably used to Crawford doing the same crap on a daily basis. He grinned and grabbed the nearest box, not even asking what it was. "Thanks, I'm starving!"

Up close, his glaring sunburn caught my attention: Schuldig looked downright baked. Fair-skinned folks did tend to burn, but damn! Even the underside of his forearm looked red. _What the hell?_ "What's that, your tracking number?" I asked, pointing at the black ink scrawled across his skin. It wasn't a phone number: not the right amount of digits.

Schuldig glanced down, then grumbled, "Oh, that. It's nothing, not anymore. Cleared out an account today."

Ah, so he didn't want to talk about it. Fair enough. I'd written my share of notes across my body over the years; thank God my schoolteachers had never caught me at it. Remembering a promise I'd made to myself on the way home today, I snagged a couple of cold beers and handed one to Schuldig. "Okay, Schwarz, what's on your mind?" I asked, leading him back to the living room.

"I'm supposed to stay away for a few hours or so, spend a little cash, keep myself distracted." Schuldig frowned slightly as he seated himself on the sofa. "But he's not expecting me back for two days. I want to know why, what he Saw, but of course he wouldn't tell me."

A few hours to two days? My internal alarms flashed a warning. "Does he know you're here?" I asked, concern making my voice tighter than I liked.

The German shook his head, lank brown strands dancing around his shoulders. "I don't know."

I sipped my beer, seeking wisdom in its cool bite. "Weird that he wouldn't tell you," I mused. "Aren't you sort of his right hand man?"

"It's not that simple," Schuldig mumbled around a mouthful of noodles. "When Crawford has a vision, it's only something that _might_ come true. It's always just a possibility, not a certainty, until it actually happens. Then you figure that acting on the knowledge of a vision can change the end result. So, unless it's immediate or extremely critical, Brad doesn't discuss his visions with anyone. Not even me."

His last comment sounded painful. My dislike for Crawford grew another notch. Trying not to sound bitchy, I said, "It's got to be hard, living with someone like that. Then you add in the kid with his restrictions, and the psychopath, and damn, Schuldig! I thought living with Weiß was hard."

Schuldig laughed and said, "Yeah, it's a circus, some days. Compared to us, you guys seem pretty damn normal." Turning mock-sinister, he added, "Unless you have some secrets lying about that I haven't found yet."

Secrets… Perched on the sofa-back, Asuka raised a slim, short-nailed finger to her lips.

To Schuldig, I said, "Everyone has secrets, my friend. For example, I didn't know you were left-handed."

My one-time enemy blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"Your gun. It's in a left-hander's rig." I watched him casually for any indication I was wrong.

Instead, in the classic interrogation faux pas, he blurted out, "How the hell did you pick up on that?"

I grinned at him. Whatever Esset taught these guys, they'd left out the part about how clever and dangerous an observant detective can be. I filed that away with all the other tidbits I'd learned from him, just in case. To be sporting, I went ahead and explained how I'd figured him out: "That vest isn't hanging quite symmetrically, indicating there's something underneath it on one side but not on the other. And you just confirmed that it's a gun."

"Shit." He shook his head, conceding the point. "You should have been working in Interpol or something, Kudou. I think your skills were wasted here."

"I stayed where I was needed." I lit up a cigarette, then regarded my guest coolly. "Oh, and before you ask, yeah, I knew it was you. Obviously someone was in my apartment, and the only other people it might have been wouldn't have wiped off the doorknob."

"Man, I'm glad we're not enemies, Kudou!" Schuldig put his take-out box down on the table, then seemed to notice something I'd been trying to ignore for the last twenty minutes. Anyone who claims that all sweat smells alike has never experienced a stressed-out, nicotine-addicted, sunburned German on a muggy summer afternoon in Japan. "Damn," he said, taking the word right out of my mouth. "I don't suppose I could borrow your shower and a shirt, could I? I didn't bring a spare, and I'm offending myself, here."

"No problem," I told him, grateful that he'd decided to do something about it. "You know where the shower is, help yourself. I'll find you another shirt. Do I get to have that one back, now that you've stunk it up?"

"If you still want it," he replied, heading for the bathroom.

"There you go again, saving strays," Asuka murmured, standing next to the sofa now. "Try the button-down shirt. I think it'd be cute."

I got up, trying to convince myself that I'd planned on giving him that shirt all along. As I neared the bathroom, Schuldig peeked out and asked, "Do you have a laundry here?"

"Nah, I use a drop-off service," I told him. "Don't worry about it, I can lend you some socks and stuff too, if you need it."

He looked disappointed as he shut the door with a muffled, "Thanks, man."

Poor guy, going from the high life to this in only a few months. Then again, falling never took very long compared to the climb. And only itsy bitsy spiders seemed to make it back up with any kind of grace.

The button-down shirt looked a little big for him, but he could always roll the sleeves. It looked like the best option, since his shoulder was obviously still bothering him. Just in case he disagreed with Asuka, I pulled out a couple of other shirts for him to choose from.

While waiting for him to finish, I checked on my orchid and turned it for tomorrow's sunrise. As a living affirmation to my thoughts, a tiny spider scurried from the dish to hide in the window frame.

The bathroom door opened, and a towel-clad Schuldig padded toward me. I tried not to react: he looked a wreck. His body seemed painted from within by a motion-sick impressionist: ivory, lobster red, and the distinctive palette of a fading bruise. I gave up on my smoke and ambled over to him. "How's the shoulder?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound as worried as I felt.

"It's getting better, just not there yet," he said. "That's why I'm going left-handed for a while."

I examined the bruise, touching gently at the darkened skin and cautiously probing the shoulder blade. He flinched. "Man, this does not look good. You seen a doctor for it?" Though I hadn't seen many injuries like this, I had the feeling that it should have shown some visible signs of healing by now. Aside from the cuts, the bruising still looked fresh, and the gashes in the skin seemed only barely on the mend.

Schuldig offered me an embarrassed little smile and said, "It's okay, really. It's only been a week, right? You know how long this shit takes."

Yeah, right. I still didn't like it. "How about the hands?" I took hold of them, turned them and studied the palms. The cuts were healing well enough, though they, too, seemed to be taking their sweet time. I traced one wound with my fingertips, wondering for a moment how he'd managed to function without stitches.

He glanced at my face, ginger eyelashes at odds with the nut-brown mane. I realized he hadn't been embarrassed just now – he'd been scared. I wanted to ask, but something in his gaze warned me away from that. In a soft voice Schuldig said, "My hands are fine. Thanks for the antibiotics, by the way."

I held onto his hands a moment longer, then released them before things could get awkward. He was standing there in only a towel, after all, an unaccustomed vulnerability in his eyes. Changing the subject, I said, "There's some shirts for you to pick from. I set them out on my bed." Remembering something he'd mentioned earlier, I asked him, "You said you had money to spend, do you want to do some shopping? I don't know what kind of stuff you have, but I'm guessing it's not up to your standard."

"You'd be right," Schuldig acknowledged, heading for the bedroom. "We had to leave all the good stuff behind. My favorite god damned coat, too."

I started after him, then stopped in the hallway. Why was I following him? My guest could dress himself just fine. I heard him trying on a couple of shirts, then the soft whuff of a towel falling to the floor. Schuldig came out of my bedroom wearing the button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled partway up his forearms. With the ink washed away, that number fairly glowed in cool ivory against a professional-grade sunburn.

I tried not to stare: the shirt was just barely long enough to cover him in the front.

"See? I told you he'd like that one," Asuka giggled, poking at my ribs.

"Do you want to borrow some shorts?" I asked as he passed me in the hallway. I couldn't help smiling as he walked on toward the bathroom: the rear view was even better. For a moment I hoped he'd say no to the underwear…

Schuldig blushed, a richer color under the ash-red sunburn. "Yes, please."

I grinned to myself. Something about his reactions really got to me. Here was this tough guy, this trained killer, getting flustered over some borrowed underpants. I nabbed the promised briefs and headed back to the bathroom.

Schuldig called softly, "Hey, is there someplace we could hang this to dry?"

"No problem," I said, not sure what he was talking about but I figured I could improvise something. He turned toward the door and I tossed the undies at him with a smile. "Here, these should work."

They fit him well enough, which didn't surprise me; I've always had a pretty good eye for sizes. He finished dressing and started fussing with his hair.

I watched him in the mirror. The brown mane did seem odd for him, but flattering in a soft way. It surprised me he'd waited this long to color it; I'd have thought that Crawford would have ordered it long before now. Though it was a perfectly logical move, it still bothered me that this might not have been Schuldig's own choice. Before I could start tallying up any lingering "Brad the Bastard" points, I asked, "What do you need dried?"

"Oh, right." Schuldig grabbed the soggy vest and dangled it over the tub; it was still dripping. "Um, I don't want to make a mess all over the place."

I joined him by the tub and took hold of the vest; the bulky fabric had soaked up a ton of water. Schuldig hadn't been able to get much of it out – with that weakened shoulder of his he wouldn't have a strong enough grip. I began methodically wringing water out of the canvas, putting a good deal of strength into it. While I worked, I decided that my idea of shopping had been a damn good one. "You know, I think we _should_ go shopping tonight. It's bound to be cooler by now. We can get you some good travel clothes, spend that money and maybe even have some fun," I suggested. "I know a place that has European-style fashion, in tall sizes. Very nice stuff. And as a bonus, there's a bakery not far from there. But you probably shouldn't take your gun. I can make sure you don't need it – after all, you've fought me, you know what I can do. There's a safe in my bedroom, we can lock it up in there."

When Schuldig didn't say anything, I looked up to see if I'd offended him. But he just stared at me, his expression almost dreamy as though he were the one seeing the future.

The vest was as dry as I could get it. I draped it over the curtain rod, then regarded Schuldig with a curious look. He seemed to be asleep on his feet. I snapped my fingers in front of his nose. "Did you doze off on me, Schuldig? I said, do you want me to stash the piece for you while we're out?"

"Oh, right," he murmured. "Probably should, huh?"

I blinked. For a moment it wasn't Schuldig standing there, but Asuka. We barely had money for food, yet she could never resist browsing for clothes. She'd teased me once that, with our knowledge of criminal ways, we could just knock over a fashion shop and call it a day, and she had laughed that cuckoo laugh of hers… "Uh, yeah," I said, shaking myself back to the present, "unless you're planning to rob the place. Come on. I'll show you." I led him back to my bedroom, then opened the closet. Inside stood the safe, a relic from those lean and hungry detective days. "I'll lock it in here until we're back for the night, if that's okay with you."

"Fair enough." Schuldig handed me the gun, holster and all.

He seemed unhappy to be parting with it, but willing to trust me this far. And that trust came from strength: I knew he'd be just as dangerous without the thing. Hell, most of our worst encounters had come when he seemed to be unarmed. Then again, I had no idea how he'd fare against his own kind. As I secured his pistol, I palmed the tiny .38 that had belonged to Asuka, five bullets still in the clip. It would fit in my own pocket neatly enough, a reminder of the seriousness of things. I'd lost one person I cared about because I didn't know how dangerous the situation really was; I did not intend to lose Schuldig.

When had I started to care so much?

To cover my momentary lapse, as I shut the door and spun the lock I asked if he had cash for this little outing.

"Oh, hey, wait a minute," Schuldig grumbled, running a hand through his hair and pacing. "Brad said something weird earlier today, he told me not to buy anything. But then he told me to go blow some cash. Sometimes the visions he gets are opposite, or they change from moment to moment." He wandered back to the kitchen, looking for all the world like he was aggravated enough to tear his hair out over this. "I usually just go with the last one stated, but I don't know if I should go buying stuff today. Damn it, it's never simple! That man is driving me fucking crazy."

_Chalk up another "BB" point._ Trying to lighten things, I lit a cigarette and said, "I'm presuming it's small, unmarked bills."

"Yeah, got it fair and square from an auto-teller." Schuldig let go of his hair and shook his head. "As far as I can tell, he's worried that object readers might figure out where we are. If I buy something, and they get hold of the money I touched, they'd know I'd been there. But there might not actually be any psychometrists within a thousand kilometers. That's the problem. I just don't know. And I don't think he does, either."

Funny thing about this guy, part of the time you ask him a question and you get a perfectly normal answer. The rest of the time, you get something like this. I decided to go for it. What could he do to me for asking? I was confused enough already. "Okay, I can follow about half of that. Mind explaining in layman's terms?"

"Give me a cigarette," he said, holding out his hand expectantly. "I don't talk without a bribe, Weiß," he added with a smirk.

I grinned around my own cigarette. "I thought you hated this brand."

"I do, but I'm getting desperate," he confessed.

Shaking my head, I chuckled and tossed him the pack and a lighter. "How did Schwarz manage to be so much trouble if you can't even keep track of your smokes?"

Schuldig lit up and took a grateful puff, then grimaced. He might be desperate, but he still couldn't get past the taste. For some reason I found this hilarious.

Around a lingering sneer, he confided, "Actually, it's only been bad since the tower. I forget shit."

"Like numbers?" I asked, thinking about his arm.

He regarded me sharply. "Yeah. Like numbers."

"You said you hit your head when the tower broke apart," I observed, still quite curious about my unusual friend. "What does that do to a telepath?"

Schuldig replied with unexpected candor. "I don't know. I'm still in the process of finding out. The telepathy is fixing itself, bit by bit. The memory problem doesn't seem to be getting any better. Not yet, anyway."

I glanced at my watch, then stubbed out my cigarette and changed the subject. I didn't want to linger on the aftermath of the tower any longer than I had to. "Come on, let's do our shopping and get some snacks. We can talk more later."

"So do I spend money or not?" he asked, caught in a contradictory set of orders.

The answer came to me, simple and profound. "How about this. I'll pay, and you give me the cash. Technically, you're blowing the cash without using it to pay for stuff, right? So either way, you win."

Half an hour later, we pulled up to one of my favorite shops. It was one of the few in the area that catered to taller men, with a distinct continental flair. I pointed Schuldig toward the goods and settled down for a chat with the owner. I hoped that my guest would find something to his liking; I'd noticed long before that he was a rather vain man, with unique fashion sense and the attitude to make it work for him. Yet in spite of his vanity and his looks, Schuldig didn't have that annoying air about him that so many handsome men seemed to need. Instead, he had a sort of boyish charm that I found totally captivating: at once worldly and amazingly innocent. I wondered if he'd ever been appreciated just for who he is, rather than what he'd been trained to do. And again I wondered just when I'd begun to care.

Schuldig browsed more quickly than I'd expected, until I realized he must be feeling time pressure like any nervous fugitive – that sensation of, no matter how fast one moved, it was always just too slow. After a few minutes, he cruised by with an armload of clothes and locked himself inside a changing room. We could hear him shedding and replacing the articles in record speed.

"Your friend is impatient with shopping," the owner commented. He was used to me trying things on in a much more leisurely fashion.

I grinned and said, "He's moving like a one-man Noh production in there, all right."

About the time Schuldig emerged, I remembered something that he probably hadn't thought of: underwear. Finding my own size, I noticed a package of black briefs and smiled. White for Weiß, black for Schwarz, then.

Schuldig was already at the counter. I took aim and threw the briefs at him with a grin. His reflexes were still fantastic: he caught the package before he could have even seen it. When he realized what he was holding, he laughed a little and added them to his purchase.

I strolled back toward him, reaching for my wallet. "You done?"

He looked like his answer got stuck on his tongue. For a second he stood there, staring past me.

My hand slipped into my pocket and braced across the pistol. If I had to, I could shoot from the hip without even drawing it. But then I noticed Schuldig's expression: he wasn't concerned, he was smiling in a distracted sort of way. "Just a sec," he mumbled, hurrying away from the counter.

Finding my sense of calm yet again, I watched him zero in on whatever had caught his eye. Schuldig paused at a clothing display that seemed to have leftovers and end-of-line items. He reached for a brown leather blazer, his attitude one of mingled reverence and hope. Moving slowly, he tried it on. It looked fantastic on him, much more flattering than that weird green coat had ever been. He wore it back to the checkout counter, grinning all the way, then took it off so the tag could be scanned.

Something about seeing him so buoyant over a simple jacket made me smile. It made sense that he had a thing about coats – he'd always been wearing one, usually that green thing.

With Asuka it had been hats…

Rather than the bakery, we ended up at a café to fulfill his urge for coffee. I loaded up on sweets and a bag of fresh coffee beans, feeling more and more the way I used to feel so very long ago, before Weiß.

I felt young, and hopeful. I felt happy, and needed, and wise.

I felt _real_.

A/N: 

_You make me feel brand new…_

"Sweet Vanilla" – Hyde _666_

**Yohji - Secret**

Again, note the differences between these next chapters and chapters 36-39 of "Coming Home". Yohji will always notice things that Schuldig misses, and both men presume things that may or may not be accurate.

But Schuldig will never notice Asuka.


	26. 26

**26**

_nani o motome samayou no? hitorikiri no boku wa…_

**Yohji - Interpretations**

As the Seven bore us back to my apartment, Schuldig's wild-flying hair reminded me of an untamable horse. To the wind, he said, "Karl and Sergei would have loved this."

I could almost taste his grief.

On our arrival, I made him carry our purchases while I checked the door for signs of tampering. It didn't matter now if he knew about my little habit; I considered him about as much an invited guest as Ken would be. Briefly I considered asking him to do his telepath thing and tell me if we had any unexpected company, but I felt secure in my own methods and besides, he was still a guest. Making him hold the bags was rude enough.

Relieving Schuldig of the snacks, I dropped them off in the kitchen, then went to retrieve his gun for him as promised. As I passed through my apartment, I checked the entry points by force of habit. Finding no sign of tampering at my windows, I allowed myself to fully relax in my own home again. Funny how these things become such a part of one's life so quickly. I doubted I'd ever be able to change things now, no matter how paranoid it looked.

Then again, if I were willing to accept a former Esset operative as an honored guest in my home, I'd have to keep my precautions honed, wouldn't I?

Returning to the living room, I found some of Schuldig's new clothes in a pile on the sofa with a few stray plastic tag holders snagged on the upholstery. Schuldig himself was rummaging around in the kitchen, the rest of his clothes lying on the table next to a pair of scissors he'd found to liberate the remaining sales tags. My guest rifled through the cabinets, oblivious to the ghostly form of Asuka seated on the counter just centimeters from his hand.

I noticed the coffee pot sitting at the ready, waiting only for freshly ground beans. As though I'd read his mind, I pulled the grinder from its hiding spot and said, "I'll finish this up. Go put away your stuff." I handed him his holstered gun and reached for the coffee beans.

Beside me, Asuka sighed, staring at the snacks as though remembering the taste of them. She shrugged, then blew me a kiss and vanished.

I looked through my cupboards, then decided against bothering with a tray for the sweets. From what I'd already come to know about Schuldig, I doubted they'd last long enough to even leave crumbs behind. Just like Omi with cookies. I smiled to myself and carried the white pastry box back out to the living room.

Schuldig greeted it like a long lost friend.

Acting on inspiration, I started unpacking my water pipe for a relaxing smoke. Though the brewing coffee smelled good, I wasn't really in the mood for caffeine this evening. I held onto some vague hope of a decent night's sleep later and I really didn't want to fight a speed buzz to get it. Remembering something Schuldig had said, I asked him if it would bother him if I smoked a bowl of hashish. I knew some people could be sensitive to it, and he'd indicated that telepaths were wired a little differently from the rest of us. I didn't want it to make him sick or anything.

He assured me that he didn't mind, so I took my pipe to the kitchen and got it ready. While I was rinsing it out, the coffee pot burbled a final commentary. I filled a cup for my guest before returning to the living room.

As I knelt by the table and crumbled a small amount of hashish into the pipe bowl, a familiar pair of ankles strode into view, boots passing through the furniture with ease. I glanced up, hoping she wasn't about to chide me.

But all Asuka said was, "You might put on some music first, Yohji." Her smile was pure mischief.

It amazed me how Schuldig didn't notice her. I'd have thought that a telepath would be more aware of ghosts and spirits. Then again, maybe he was just a staunch skeptic.

Taking her advice, I ambled over to my stereo and browsed for something not too overbearing. "You like music, Schuldig?" I asked, though I'd never met anyone yet who didn't.

"I love music," he murmured, sounding like he was talking through a wad of cake. I could imagine him trying to keep from spitting crumbs as he talked; apparently Asuka thought the same thing, because she gave a silent giggle and faded through the wall.

One of my favorite discs wasn't in its case; hopefully I'd find it in the changer. Sure enough, it occupied spot number three. I added two others and set it to random play.

Returning to the couch, I lit up my pipe and took in the soothing smoke. From the speakers drifted the haunting chords of a single piano. I frowned slightly; this song had always reminded me of Asuka. That it should be the first one to play tonight…

Coincidence. Nothing more. Turning to a distant perspective of the song, I asked Schuldig how Nagi was – the boy he loved like a son. The boy who didn't smile.

"He's doing okay. Thinks I'm a total freak, I'm sure." Schuldig sipped at the second-hand smoke wafting toward him, finished with a coffee chaser. "What brought that up, anyway?"

"Oh, the music, actually," I told him. "You'd mentioned that he couldn't listen to it, the restrictions and all. How's that going?"

"Oh, he can listen to some music, we just have to be careful what kind," Schuldig grumbled. "This would be right out."

I blinked. I'd thought maybe something in his own language would be acceptable, especially a song so quiet and gentle as this one. "That's sad."

"Yeah," Schuldig murmured, "this is way too evocative."

Did he understand the lyrics, then? His skill with spoken Japanese seemed to rely more upon the other people present than his own knowledge. Someone not fully fluent with a language tended to have real trouble comprehending the subtleties of song and poetry. What did this song mean to Schuldig, I wondered? Or did he pick up its meaning from me?

And what might that meaning be?

Forcing my mind back to our conversation, I asked, "You're going slow with him, right?"

Whether due to the hashish or something in the music, I found myself staring at his mouth as he smiled and said, "Yeah, I'm going slow. Haven't had The Talk with him yet, but I'm still trying to figure out how to get Brad to do it for me."

Brad. The name I wanted least to hear. I chuckled bitterly. "Good luck. Sounds like the missus isn't very open to suggestions."

"No, he's not." Schuldig glanced away from me as though hiding pain. "You know, sometimes I really wonder what goes on in his head."

"You don't peek?" I scowled a little. How could he follow someone so blindly? Hell, that was more than we ever trusted Persia; at least we could confer about it, or opt out of a mission. That Brad Crawford could command that level of loyalty seemed bizarre, especially considering what we'd seen of him in combat. The man was ruthless, with a definite cruel streak. Not the kind of guy I'd trust with my sister, if I had a sister. And not the kind of guy I wanted to trust with my newest friend.

The unwelcome answer came on the sigh of music: _"Deeply, deeply even now…yes, I love you…"_

Of course he trusted Brad completely. Schuldig loved him, without reservation. He would die for that man.

And something about that realization made my chest hurt.

Schuldig got up, and for a moment I thought I'd offended him. But he only picked up his empty coffee cup and headed for the kitchen. Partway there, he paused and murmured, "He's good at keeping me out."

I stared at him, knowing he deserved so much better, knowing he would not believe this if I told him. No matter the circumstances, keeping secrets and barriers against someone so dedicated just marked Brad Crawford as a coward to me, if not something worse. He was a hitter, and a sneak, and he was breaking this free spirit's heart.

As though a spell had been broken, or freshly cast, when Schuldig returned with his coffee we sat unspeaking, letting the final chords of the oddly appropriate song roll over us like surf.

The CD player spun, settled on its next offering.

From the speakers drifted the haunting chords of a single piano…

A/N:

_nani o motome samayou no? hitorikiri no boku wa…_

What do you wander, searching for? As for myself, all alone...

"Hoshi no Suna (Stardust)" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Yohji - Interpretations**

Asuka. Brad Crawford. Our forward momentum relies upon our past, and our willingness to leave it behind.

Of course, this philosophy presumes a degree of free will and spits in the eye of fate. I'm beginning to think that the only one this might apply to…is Asuka.


	27. 27

**27**

_jibun o urandemo itami wa kie wa shinai_

**Yohji - Bleeding**

"Why don't you borrow my room for the night?" I suggested as Schuldig yawned and set his once-more empty coffee cup on the table. "There's a show I want to watch anyway, you might as well have the bed. I'm not going to be using it."

"You sure?" he asked through another jaw-cracking yawn.

I couldn't help but smile. He reminded me of a little kid who didn't want the day to end just yet. "Positive. Man, I've never seen anyone suck down two cups of strong coffee and then pass out like this. Go on, you know where it is." I picked up his clothes from their place on the floor and dropped them across his arms. "Here, take this in with you. I don't want to trip over it."

As "Hoshi no Suna" began to play for a third time, I switched off the stereo. I must have hit the wrong button and set it to repeat instead of random shuffle, though why it would start in the middle of the third disc I could not explain. Instead, I turned my attention away from music and toward the television. There wasn't really anything I wanted to watch, but Schuldig didn't know that, and I needed the time to think. Besides, if I kept the volume low, all the shows seemed about the same anyway.

Slowly, thoughtfully, I gathered up the remains of our snacks and my water pipe and headed for the kitchen. Washing dishes had always appealed to me in an almost Zen way. There was simplicity in the act, combined with something deeply profound. The power of water combined with human will could do so many different things. It could soothe pain, turn hot smoke into breathable medicine, wash away dirt and sin.

But it couldn't wash away memory. The weight of my life descended on me like a cross. So many botched chances, so many wrong turns…

"Is it so bad, Yohji?" Asuka asked from her perch atop the kitchen counter. "Would it have been better for the sea to wash everything away?"

"I don't know, Asuka. Sometimes I wonder." Making another likely mistake, I poured myself a glass of wine and headed back to the living room, glass in one hand, bottle in the other.

Could a man like me even hope for a fresh start, a possibility with another man caught in the same dilemma? Did Schuldig regret? Did he ever yearn for oblivion, too?

When I'd cleaned the wounds in his hands, I'd seen the old scars across his wrists.

Suddenly it felt as though I were bleeding deep inside, where I couldn't put enough pressure to make it stop. Comprehension hit me with merciless force: I wasn't trying to save Schuldig.

I was waiting for him to save me.

"Baka," I growled at myself, washing the word down with wine. Life didn't work that way. People had no more power to save each other than they had to stop time, though they never seemed able to resist trying. I certainly couldn't resist, at any rate. Never could, likely never would. No, I had spent my life so far trying to save people from their own folly and the designs of the wicked, and every damn time I had failed.

Some failures were more bitter than others.

What did I want from Schuldig, a chance to set things right for once in my life? That wouldn't be fair, to either of us. Besides, how the hell could I change one moment of his destiny? If he planned to stay with his Brad Crawford, he would remain a pawn to the very system he claimed to defy. But if I tried to interfere, not only would he hate me for it, but I could truly offer him nothing better. He couldn't live free, no matter how desperately he sought that illusion. He would need an organization like Kritiker to keep him safe, and that safety would come at a high cost.

I couldn't bring myself to be that selfish.

"Yohji…" Asuka's voice was warm and kind, as though she were speaking to a small sad child. She stood over me as I stared unseeing at the television. Her hands were cool as they caressed my face. "You're asking yourself the wrong questions. You're so used to being Weiß, have you forgotten how to just be a human being? Reach out to him, but do it as Yohji, not some ideal you don't even believe in anymore."

**Ran - Scorched**

"You fool! Do you realize what you've done?" Dry, roiling heat pummeled my back as I put all my weight into holding the madman against the wall. Sweat dripped down my temple, evaporated in a burn of salt.

Ken struggled against me, his expression manic. "But, Aya! Look! We did the job, right? We got what we came for!"

"Evidence, you bastard! We came here to collect evidence, not blow the damn building up!" As if emphasizing my words, another dull explosion echoed through the night. The ruined air burned my nostrils as I sucked in another breath and screamed it back into my partner's face. "You went over the line, Ken!"

"It worked, didn't it?" Though his words were calmer, his eyes still gleamed with a kind of lust I had never thought to see there. I could almost see imps and demons cavorting among the reflected flames.

"It's over." I pulled him away from the wall and shoved him toward the car.

Ken allowed me to herd him away from the botched assignment, though he turned and skipped backward so as not to lose sight of the fire.

Inside my car, the smell of burning death clung to us both. I turned on the vent and cranked it up to high.

Beside me, Ken grinned that unholy grin and said, "It's good working with you again, Aya. I miss the other guys, but this was a good mission." He glanced down at his hands and frowned. "I wish I could have gotten in a little closer, but at least we shut them down."

I hit the brakes, hard. The car slewed to a stop, throwing both of us forward against our seatbelts. "You idiot! All we did – no, all _you_ did was kill off the underlings! The people running this racket, did you really think they'd be at a warehouse in the middle of the night? The mission briefing even said as much!" I turned and glared at Ken.

He blinked as though waking up from a bad dream. "I got the evidence," he murmured, taking the small baggie out of his pocket.

"Evidence linking half a dozen dead smugglers to a nonexistent building." I leaned back, staring through the moon roof. The tinted glass seemed to hide our crime from the eyes of God…but I knew what we had done. "We can't work like this. You're not Weiß, you're a loose cannon, Hidaka."

"Gomen nasai," Ken whispered. "I didn't mean to. I just…" He looked at me, his eyes once more sane though deeply shadowed. "I wanted them gone."

"We don't always get what we want in this life." _Maybe the next one would be better…_

**Ken - Berserk**

Flames glimmered in the side mirror as Aya gunned the engine and turned for home. I could almost still feel the heat upon my skin.

What had gone wrong? What happened back there? I wanted to ask him why he was so angry with me, so disgusted with himself, but I couldn't make the words come.

All I knew was, bad people had died tonight because of us, their chemical pyre rising like a tower in the still air.

Inside, I felt calm. Too calm, somehow, but I couldn't figure out why that was a bad thing.

There was blood on my claws, but only a little bit. I vaguely remembered the guard shooting at us, and then…

My lips stretched into a grin at the memory.

Not really thinking about it, I tugged off my left glove, cupped my hand between my legs, and squeezed.

A/N:

_jibun o urandemo itami wa kie wa shinai_

Even if you despise yourself, the pain will not vanish

"Hoshi no Suna (Stardust)" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Yohji - Bleeding**

Memory is an amazing thing. It holds our life, our past, doling out bits of information according to its own designs. We can search it for something needed, we can curse it for withholding such, but it most shows its power over us when it blindsides us with events better left forgotten.

**Ran - Scorched**

Burned in fact and in spirit, Aya confronts not only Ken but his own desire to remain in the vigilante business. With just the two of them, there is no one else to share the burden, for Aya sees himself more as Ken's keeper than his partner. What once had meaning is now reduced to murder. What's an honorable warrior to do?

**Ken - Berserk**

The word "berserk" hearkens back to Viking days, when it was believed that by wearing the skin of a bear a man could become as strong and fierce as a bear. Ken is on a road he never anticipated, with consequences he is only dimly aware of. The lure of the forbidden, the killing rush: folklore also warns that, once a beast tastes blood, there is no turning back – especially if that beast was once a human being.


	28. 28

**28**

_kieta kimi o omoitsuzukeru koto shika dekinakute_

**Yohji - Hauntings**

"Nein…bitte, nie wieder…tun Sie's nicht…bitte…nein…_oh Gott hilf mir!_"

The foreign words seeped into my dream, making me restless, but that last shriek brought me fully awake with a jolt. For a moment I wondered why I was sleeping in my chair in front of the television. Then the shock of waking wore off and I surged to my feet, heading for the bedroom.

Before I could take two steps, Schuldig half ran, half stumbled across the hall and into the bathroom.

Acting on pure reflex, I continued on to the bedroom and checked for signs of disturbance. The bed looked totally thrashed, the sheets tangled and soaked through with sweat. The trip-wire I'd secured to the window hadn't been moved, so I could rule out physical attack. It occurred to me then that there was no way I could safeguard Schuldig from any other kind: against another telepath, he would be on his own.

From the bathroom came the unmistakable sound of retching.

I hurried to check on my guest. Schuldig knelt by the toilet, pale and trembling. Sweat matted his hair in clumps, curtaining his face with random dredlocks.

"You all right?"

Schuldig nodded vaguely, unable to speak. Another wave of nausea doubled him over again; he clung to the toilet, spittle and tears dripping from his face into the soiled water.

By his reaction I knew he hadn't been attacked. He'd had a nightmare, a self-inflicted horror of the sort I knew all too well. Something in my heart trembled at the sight of Schuldig, my former enemy, reduced to this.

He looked too vulnerable.

Crouching beside him, I gathered his hair back from his face; his skin was burning hot. Changing tactics, I nabbed a washcloth and ran it under cold water until it dripped. By the time I got back to his side, Schuldig was dry-heaving again. Every muscle in his lean frame seemed to be vibrating. I rinsed off his shoulders and the back of his neck, holding his long hair away from the overheated skin. I shook out the washrag until it felt icy cold again, then wadded it up and pressed the knot of chilled fabric against the base of his skull.

Schuldig tried to flinch away from it, but I held steady. "No, keep it there. It's a pressure point. It helps with nausea." I made him hold the washrag in place while I got him a glass of warm water to rinse with, all the while reviewing the situation and convincing myself all over again that this was not, in fact, a mental assault of some kind. I'd seen enough movies with Ken to wonder, and learned just enough from Schuldig himself to worry.

After a few tense minutes, I managed to get Schuldig cleaned up some, soaking him in my bathtub until his body temperature came back to normal. He'd gone from overheated to shivering with cold in the blink of an eye; for a while there I worried he was going into shock. But he responded to the warm bath, his skin soaking in the heat and his muscles finally relaxing. He leaned back against the wall, utterly drained.

I stared at him, at this drenched alley-cat version of the proud telepath I'd once fought with all the fury of the damned. He seemed so different since the tower, so…human.

So haunted.

Asuka beckoned to me from the hallway.

"Will you be okay for a minute?" I asked Schuldig. "I'll get you some fresh clothes."

He nodded, then sighed. "Someday, maybe, it will all be gone, and I will just be Schuldig…"

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. His voice echoed in my mind, as soft and as empty as cemetery dust.

His lips had not moved.

Had he meant for me to hear that? How could that be possible? I wasn't a telepath; how could I have heard him as clearly as speech? I swallowed, suddenly uncertain that I'd really 'heard' anything; after all, my very own haunt was waiting impatiently a few steps away. As casually as I could, I asked, "Did you say something?"

Schuldig shook his head.

Passing my most familiar ghost in the doorway, I hurried toward the bedroom. I didn't want to leave Schuldig alone too long; didn't want him passing out and…no, best not to think about that. Cold sweat beaded my forehead as I forced that thought to shut the hell up.

"It _was_ just a nightmare, wasn't it?" Asuka asked, her eyes dark and worried.

"_Someday, maybe, it will all be gone, and I will just be Schuldig…"_

"Him, or me?" I grabbed a shirt, pair of jeans, and a package of underwear, then turned back toward the bathroom.

Asuka stopped me with a hand flat against my chest. Though I couldn't feel the touch, I knew better than to walk through her. "I can't protect you as long as you are protecting him, Yohji."

In a stage whisper I replied, "I don't need your help, Asuka. But he needs mine."

Undying tears sparkled in her eyes as she faded from view. "Be careful, Yohji. You don't know what's chasing him."

_I know enough to frighten me, Asuka. I'll be careful. For all our sakes._

**Omi - Failure**

"I see. Thank you, Manx-san. I'll be waiting for his call, then. Good night." With numb fingers I hung up the phone.

The mission had gone badly. Ken…_Siberian_…had disregarded orders and escalated. The entire sting operation would have to be scrapped. The smugglers were long gone, more dangerous now that half their inventory had been destroyed and they knew someone was on their trail.

Damn it.

"Damn it!" I shouted, as though hearing my own voice could make the news any different.  
It had been a gamble, that Ken could return to the field and be a functional operative after his injuries. I had so hoped, for his sake, that he could do this. He'd already lost one manner of livelihood, and much honor with it; to fail at this would break him.

And to tell him of his failure might break me.

How could I be Persia, cold and ruthless with the lives of my men, my agents, my friends, for God's sake! How could I tell Ken that he was a danger to himself and others and must resign from Weiß?

"No, it's not that bad," I reminded myself, ignoring the unspoken "yet" at the end of that statement. "We all have lapses in judgment. It's part of being human, after all. He'll get better. He never did like taking orders from Aya, anyway. Maybe they're just clashing off each other."

No matter how much I wanted to delude myself, no matter how much I wanted to just put it aside and go back to sleep, I couldn't evade the one simple truth of it. This had become a test, of my strength as Persia, and of Aya's character. As mission leader, he would have to report this mess to me himself. Tradition gave him twenty-four hours to do so.

Would he defend Ken, and lie to me?

Would he hand Ken over on a platter?

Was there a middle road?

Levering myself out of bed, I resigned myself to a sleepless night and trudged to the kitchen for some tea.

**A/N:**

_kieta kimi o omoitsuzukeru koto shika dekinakute_

I can only keep remembering you who disappeared

"Hoshi no Suna (Stardust)" – Gackt _Crescent_

A note about that song: it has always reminded me of Jim Croce's "Time in a Bottle"…another very relevant song for every character in the "Cross of Changes" arc.

**Yohji - Hauntings** "Nein…bitte, nie wieder…tun Sie's nicht…bitte…nein…_oh Gott hilf mir!_" – "No…please, no more…don't do it (Sir)…please…no…_oh God help me!_"

Ghosts and nightmares, and memory. These are truly the ties that bind.

**Omi - Failure** Again Omi sees through a fractured lens: Persia, or Bombay? Master, or friend? Lord, or brother?

And which is the more painful possibility – the loss of Ken, or the betrayal of Aya? The betrayal of Ken by Aya, perhaps? It's nights like these that make Omi wish they'd all just died in the water…


	29. 29

**29**

_tsuki akari ni terasarete kuchizusanda kimi no na mo kaze ni sarawarete kieta_

**Yohji - Empathy**

About the time I started to worry that he was taking too long, Schuldig padded out to the living room. His eyes were ringed with shadows. He glanced at the table, then at the television. I'd left it on; some late-night crime program spun its too-familiar tale. I turned it off with a distracted wave of the remote. To Schuldig I said, "Tea's ready."

He nodded and sank onto the sofa. When I handed him a cup, his hands were trembling again.

"Want to talk?" I asked, watching him closely.

Schuldig sighed into his cup. An echo of steam rose up and curled across his cheek. "It's not something you talk about," he whispered; his voice sounded burnt. "You can't comprehend it if you weren't there, and if you were…you already know it."

"I'll listen, Schuldig. You know I will." I tried to think encouraging and comforting things toward him, to get him to just open up and share the burden.

He met my gaze, held it, accepted. "Sometimes I relive things, in my sleep. Bad things. Some nightmares never die. Rosenkreuz…" His voice broke, fell silent. Schuldig swallowed hard and forced the words out. It looked like they hurt. "The place I was…trained. They don't just deal with mind talents. They're trying out new ways to control people, to control groups of people. They mix it all up with the psi training and the field training, but it's really about control." Using both hands he set the teacup back on the table, nearly spilling it in the process.

I resisted the urge to take his hands in mine until they stopped shaking. "Hey, look, only tell me what you feel safe saying, okay? I'll listen to everything, but you look like it's really painful to talk about."

"Yeah, it is. In more ways than one." He took a few deep breaths, then shook his head. He looked past me to stare at my orchid, and when he spoke again he addressed the flower as though that were easier somehow. "They leave things in your head, things to keep you in line. Telepathic commands. Conditioning. Programming. It's harder to talk about than you can imagine." Schuldig turned slowly to look at me, his expression grim. "But we're supposed to be free, Yohji. I don't want to do this anymore."

"And they won't just let you go," I stated, understanding more by the moment.

Asuka's most recent warning echoed in my thoughts.

"They'll never let us go," Schuldig murmured bitterly. "They think we stole the Elders' power or something, I don't know. Maybe they just hate being made fools of. In any case, they want to kill us. Or take us back." Schuldig looked down at his hands; I followed his gaze and found myself staring at a criss-crossing pattern of heavy white scars on his wrists. "Rosenkreuz is worse than death."

I joined him on the couch. My hand moved of its own volition to cover those screaming scars as if I could stop the bleeding even now. "You've made it this far."

Schuldig sighed and nodded. "I know. It's just, in some ways, I feel like I've never left. It's still in my head, all the pain and…screaming, echoing inside my skull. I couldn't make it stop. Then or now." He folded in on himself, hugging his arms tight across his chest.

Without a word, I gathered him into my arms, cradling the wounded telepath against my chest. He shuddered at my touch as though fighting something within himself.

I tried to concentrate on just breathing.

Slowly he began to relax against me. I became aware of my own heartbeat, slow, steady, and calm. The sound of life, vibrant and terrible in the knowledge of its own mortality. Schuldig reached up and played with my hair the way a small child might, a child held close to a nurturing breast, remembering safety.

"Just, hold me a while longer," Schuldig whispered. "Let me hide here with you, just a while longer. Oh, God, Karl. They hurt me. They hurt me bad." Then he seemed to startle, as though he'd been dreaming. "Oh, shit. I – I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I told him, allowing him to pull away from me. "I don't mind. I know what can happen, in places like that."

Schuldig sucked in a deep, harsh breath and regarded me with eyes gone dark. "Yohji, I hope to God you can't imagine any of it. They use torture and coercion and anything else that might increase their power. And they have a lot of power."

The pieces fell into place: his protectiveness, his concern, his love for the child who had been his charge. The child's coldness. "Did they torture the kid, too?"

His answer came in silence.

I got up and walked a few paces away, trying to regain my composure before offering any sort of comfort. The thought of a kid not even Omi's age being tortured and twisted by those cult freaks – no, worse than that, I reminded myself. This was an organization far older and more insidious than any cult. It endured and grew by coercion and torture, trying to create the perfect soldiers to fulfill its perfect destiny, when all it really did was create human wreckage and despair.

And Weiß had failed to stop them.

Rather than allow myself to fall into that darkness again, I came back to Schuldig, positioning myself behind him and resting my hands on his shoulders. "Let it go for now," I murmured, whether to myself or to him didn't matter. It was all only one sorrow. Gently, mindful of his injured right shoulder, I began to knead at the tension in his muscles.

Schuldig winced, then tried visibly to relax. I could tell he'd rarely received this kind of care, if ever. Relaxing for a massage is not an automatic thing for many people; clearly he was one of those perpetually tense souls who took more stress than relief from it.

I did my best to change that, working at his shoulders and neck until, finally, the taut muscles began to accept the warmth I offered them. Only when Schuldig sighed and his expression changed from anticipating pain to that almost startled recognition of well-being did I stop. I gave his shoulders a final squeeze and told him to drink his tea. There wasn't much left of it; I went out to the kitchen for some fruit water.

In the short time I was away, Schuldig finished off the tea, then took the offered bottle from me with a sheepish smile. He looked almost healthy at the moment, the gross tension gone and the lingering pain momentarily vanquished. As is the mind, so is the body, as they say. "You carry a lot of stress in your body, my friend. Guess that explains why you look tired all the time. Anything I can do to help?"

"Remind me that I'm still human." He blinked at himself, then pushed his hair back from his eyes. "Remind me that they haven't won yet."

"Sounds to me like I'm taking over someone else's job," I observed, now curious about the friend he had cried out to. That Schuldig could have mistaken me for him intrigued me, though I wasn't quite sure why. "Tell me about Karl. You've mentioned him before, and I thought I heard you call his name a couple times tonight."

"Dear, sweet Karl," Schuldig whispered, smiling at some memory. "Karl's a telempath, he can feel other people's emotions and sensations, and change them if he wants to. He…was my best friend." He paused, looking down at his hands. "Anyway, we'd meet up whenever we could sneak away. You didn't get a lot of free time there. Everything was done on the sly. We'd slip into an empty classroom or a closet or whatever. Sometimes we'd talk, sometimes just breathe together. Sometimes we fucked." He laughed softly, fondly. "Karl could get into your mind and pull up your most fantastic sexual memory. You'd have a great time, and he wouldn't even have to touch you."

"Damn!" I exclaimed, grinning as I imagined for a moment just how that must have felt. My own best sexual memories were all pretty amazing…

"Yeah." Schuldig glanced up at me. "That's how he stayed alive."

I felt myself scowl, ashamed of my brief enthusiasm. Sharply I reminded myself that his rules were not my rules, and I could hurt him if I forgot that.

Schuldig seemed to misinterpret my expression. He looked away again, an angry blush darkening his face. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and let the words come on their own. "I stayed alive by bending over."

My heartbeat thudded in my ears, drowning out his words. Though his admission didn't really surprise me, given what I'd learned of this school of his, the vehemence and self-loathing caught me off guard.

The meaning of his name thundered through my consciousness: Guilty.

_So very guilty…_

I shook myself out of my stunned reverie as Schuldig whispered, "I was too afraid of death to fight."

"Fear of death is overrated," I said, hoping my bluntness didn't make things worse for him but needing to make him understand. "It's no substitute for a love of life."

Schuldig blinked, then stared at me as though I had just spoken a magic charm capable of breaking chains.

In the awkward silence that followed, I reached for my cigarettes, pulled two from the pack. "You were telling me about Karl." I lit the smokes, passed him one.

"Right." Schuldig held the cigarette a moment, not tasting it yet. "They didn't go too hard on him, because empaths break fairly easily. But I was sort of a problem child. I spent a lot of recovery time with him."

"How so?" I took a drag on my own cigarette, allowing the smoke to waft between us. I hoped that discussing it would ease him some, like lancing an infected wound. His suffering had festered too long already.

Voice soft, Schuldig explained, "He could make the pain go away. When I needed it most, he reminded me that I'm still human." He sucked on the cigarette, accepted its bitterness with a sigh. "Karl was the brother I never had. I haven't seen him in about four years. They assigned me to a team, and the last I heard he'd gotten on a team, too. He's probably dead by now. The gentle ones don't last long." He paused, thinking. His eyes turned bleak as he whispered, "Or they're making him look for me."

"Why?" I asked, sharply concerned at this. "Because you were close?" It did seem like the kind of thing they'd do, set friend against friend.

But Schuldig shook his head. "Wouldn't matter. Brad said they'd come after us with everything they've got, and a telempath would be very useful if they wanted to take us alive. Which I believe they do."

For a couple of minutes, the only sound in the room was the hiss of burning tobacco.

"I hope he's dead." Schuldig's voice sounded harsh in the stillness.

"I'm sorry for your loss. I know it hurts." I stubbed out my cigarette and reached for the wine. "I lost someone too." Looking at Schuldig out of the corner of my eye, I told him, "I still have nightmares about it."

Again silence filled the room. His cigarette burned down, turned to ash.

I found myself staring at my wine glass, the dark liquid within promising oblivion but never delivering it. "She was my best friend." Remembering what he'd said, I smiled a little and added, "Sometimes we fucked. I would have given up everything for her. I did give up everything." The wine tasted like poison on my tongue. As I set the glass down, my own fine scars caught my attention, brought my gaze to bear upon my hands. Hands that had destroyed what I'd once held most dear. No amount of water or wine, or even poison, could ever wash that memory away.

Schuldig reached over and took up the wine bottle. He finished off the dregs for me. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Not looking up, I asked, "Schuldig, what did you mean when you said Karl would remind you you're still human?" I knew what it meant to me, but I had to hear it from him. If it meant the same thing…

"Laughing. Smiling. When we were together, sexually," he stated with simple honesty. "Machines don't fuck."

"Is that it, being able to have sex with someone?" I could almost hear the unspoken part of his reply, but it was that part I needed most to hear out loud.

As though understanding the importance his words held for me, Schuldig selected them quite carefully before speaking again. "No. It's more than that. But sometimes, that's all you have." Talking once more toward the orchid in its sleek black pot he whispered, "They didn't even leave me my name."

For the briefest moment, I thought I heard a whisper on the wind, but then I realized there was no wind.

Soft silence crept through the room, not demanding to be filled with speech. Around the edges of the window shade, rosy light announced the coming dawn. I closed my eyes; sunrises were for other souls than mine. The light only reminded me of who I had once been, someone who was lost forever now. Lost in a sea of blood…

My body cried out for rest. I muffled a yawn and offered Schuldig a weary smile. "Look, it's almost morning. Do you want to try to sleep, or do you want breakfast? Either way, you're on your own because I'm reclaiming the bed for a few hours."

Schuldig rubbed at his eyes, scowling in that way that signals a growing headache. "I'll crash out on the couch, then."

"Linens and blankets are in the hall closet. And there's headache pills in the bathroom. Help yourself." Surprising myself, I paused and kissed Schuldig's cheek as I passed by the couch. It just seemed the most normal thing to do. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more later."

**Ran - Honor**

"Get some sleep, Ken. We'll talk more later." I stood in the doorway as my teammate snuggled under his blanket with a contented sigh.

Convinced that this time he'd actually sleep, or at least stay on his futon, I retreated to my bedroom and locked the door behind me. As sunlight mocked me at the edges of my window, my mind replayed the whole damn night, showed me the evidence, dared me to call it a liar. Dared me to call.

I glared at my cell phone, knowing my duty, resenting it. Not for the first time. But at least back then, Omi had been one of us.

Soft moans drifted beneath my door. Ken was jacking off again. Third time since getting back from the mission. It was as though the violence and the fire had just set him off, boiling through his senses and driving him into a weird kind of passion.

It scared the hell out of me.

I couldn't deny that something was very wrong with Ken. He'd never been like this before. True, we had all had our moments when relief at not being among the body count drove us to momentary excesses, but this wasn't like him at all. Also true that this was only the first time I'd seen him like this.

Did I dare wait for a second?

If I reported his behavior, what would happen to him? Would they break his skull again in their attempts to fix it? Would they medicate him into a stupor?

Would Persia make him a target?

Ken was all of my past that I had left. I didn't want to lose him too.

The low moans shifted into a growl. I closed my eyes and caught myself imagining what I might see if I opened my door. I could just hear the sound of flesh on flesh, muffled by distance and maybe a blanket.

My fingertips trailed down my chest, paused thoughtfully at the waistband of my pants. My own skin felt too sensitive, as though the flash fire had singed away an old layer of me.

Who was I becoming beneath the ashes?

Ken cried out softly, ending on a raw, shuddering gasp, and my own breath caught in my throat in sympathy.

Mad he may be, but he was still Ken. And right now, he and I were all of Weiß.

I waited a few more moments, until I heard soft snoring in the other room. Then I lifted my phone and made the call.

"Abyssinian here. Mission failed."

"Acknowledged." Persia's voice came through filtered as always, though I knew exactly to whom I was speaking. "What went wrong?"

"There were unforeseen circumstances."

"Of what kind?"

"Explosives."

"I see. Your position?"

I took a deep breath and stated, "I take full responsibility."

Persia didn't reply immediately, and for a moment I thought he'd hung up. Then: "Very well. How do you suggest we resolve this?"

"Complete the team." Though the last thing I wanted was two strangers in our midst, I couldn't control Ken alone. I swallowed hard before adding, "Balinese is sorely missed. And Bombay will not be easy to replace. We are half a team, Persia." My breath felt heavy in my chest; I wrote it off to the smoke. "A wounded half."

Silence stretched beyond judgment into pity, or so I imagined. When Persia spoke again, he sounded almost sad. "I'm downgrading your team's status until we get this sorted out. Any more failures will be closely scrutinized."

He was giving me this one. Next time I might not get away with it. "Understood."

"Do you have anything else to add?"

I thought about my unstable partner in the other room, thought about our missing third and fourth, thought about all the hellish mistakes in the past. Thought about all the mistakes that yet may come. "No. That is all."

**Omi - Absent**

He took the fall for Ken. By some miracle Aya had found the middle road, and chosen it freely.

I stared at the phone a moment longer as though willing it to ring again. The pain in Aya's voice had been so clear; something was very wrong, and he did not want to trust me with it.

I wanted to find Yohji, demand that he return to the team; I wanted to walk away from my duties as the head of Kritiker and return to the team myself; I wanted to turn back time.

Each of those options was just as likely as the others. And we all knew it.

To the sunrise I whispered, "Good night, Aya-kun, Ken-kun. Good night, Yohji-kun, wherever you are."

If I closed my eyes, I could almost hear them answer.

**

* * *

**

**A/N:**

_tsuki akari ni terasarete kuchizusanda kimi no na mo kaze ni sarawarete kieta_

illuminated by the moonlight, the wind even snatches away your name that I sing to myself

"Hoshi no Suna (Stardust)" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Yohji Empathy**

It is believed that each human being resonates at a unique frequency, much as fingerprints are unique. I have trouble with that; given the vast number of human souls who have traveled this planet and who even now co-reside here, I suspect that Paul Simon was right. The myth of fingerprints is a conceit, and so is the myth of unique resonance. People are more alike than they want to admit. It bruises the ego to think that "one" is not the same as "only", that two people might have the same flavor of spirit.

But it happens all the time.

This is not to imply any sort of active or latent psi talent in Yohji, merely an openness and a deep, self-sacrificing kindness, and the rare sort of understanding that comes when one just listens to what isn't being said.

**Ran Honor**

It is tradition that an honorable soldier stands by his fellows, even in the face of a superior officer. Aya's response to the dilemma tells much about how he views his own position relative to Ken and to Omi. One gap shrinks as another rift widens.

More than once he will question whether he chose the right answer.

**Omi Absent**

And now he knows: Aya will be a noble leader, responsible and concerned for his men. Now the question becomes, who could possibly fill his own shoes, and Yohji's? Weiß needs two new warriors – how easy will it be for Omi to select them, knowing what sort of life he is condemning them to?

Maybe the real question is, how long can he put off the inevitable?


	30. 30

**30**

_fukaku fukaku ima mo  
sou...aishiteiru_

**Rex - Initiation**

"Thank you for doing this. You really don't have to."

I parked the car and smiled at my passenger. "You're very welcome, Aya-chan."

She got out and stood for a moment gazing at the stately building in front of us. She seemed awkward and coltish in a way that reminded me of myself when I was fourteen.

I wondered briefly if she would ever make up for all that time spent sleeping, or if the world had spun beyond her reach. This private academy would be her best chance for it, since she'd never finished high school.

Kritiker has for some time kept a trust fund set aside for her full tuition, including college, through whatever course of study she may decide on. And if school is not to be, she'd have an apartment and a job at a quiet little flower shop for as long as she'd want them.

Persia had said that we owed her at least that much.

As we walked toward the admissions office, I tried to puzzle out why he'd sent me to escort Aya to her new school. She didn't seem to be at risk, though she was related to one of our operatives. They say that every encounter makes each of us teacher and learner, inseparable. What was he trying to teach me today?

"Look! Wildflowers!" Aya knelt and cupped them in her hands as though she'd never seen anything so amazing.

When she looked up at me, she was crying.

I hurried to her side. "Are you all right?"

She smiled and hiccupped a sob. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. It's foolish, I know. But when I…went to sleep, it was raining, and I dreamed that all the flowers were drowned by it."

I swallowed and nodded, trying to smile back. "It hasn't rained much here since you woke up, has it?"

"No, not like that day," she whispered.

"And now it's summer, and time for new beginnings." I helped her to her feet, such a small weight to bear. "Come on, let's get you started."

**Yohji - Union**

"It's so easy to just _be_ with you, and I'm down to counting the hours before I have to go again."

I blinked as the preceding day seemed to evaporate into nothingness. He's leaving, going back to his team. Back to Brad. I found myself staring blankly at my guest.

Schuldig smirked at me, though his eyes looked sad. "You sure you don't want to run away with me, to Amsterdam or something? Be a couple of hippies or whatever?"

I blurted the first thing that came to mind, hiding bitterness behind laughter. "You think I want Crawford hunting me down and shooting me where it hurts? Hell, no!" A part of me wished he'd been serious about it, and then I realized he had been but it just wasn't an option. "It's a nice idea, though. I've never been to Amsterdam."

"Me neither. But I hear it's a friendly place."

Sunset colored the window red-gold, deepening with evening and an expectant sort of quiet. He'd be gone tomorrow. I couldn't expect to ever see him again. Knowing this…just hurt. There was so much about Schuldig that spoke to me, whispered to the darkness in my soul.

If we only had this one night before the end of the world, what would I do with it?

I shut the window and turned the stereo on, still searching for that answer. To find it, I realized I needed to know one more thing about my friend, one thing that could be the key to his nature. If that nature belonged to Brad Crawford, all I could do would be to let him go gracefully. But if not… "Can I ask you something without you getting a headache over it?"

"Depends," he replied. "Try me."

"Why Schuldig?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Did you choose that name for yourself," I asked, returning to the couch, "or did someone give it to you?"

Schuldig fidgeted, stubbed out his cigarette with a savage twist. "No, I chose it."

"What are you guilty of?"

He bit his lip, then whispered, "Everything."

Everything, he said. No man is so debased as to be guilty of everything. Not even me. His pain struck that chord within me, sounded it so strongly that I knew I'd had my answer before I'd ever asked the question. We were two lost souls trying to remain human, and damned if I was going to let him fall.

I gripped his jaw, tilted his head back so I could look into his eyes. I could still be wrong about this, I had to know for certain, but there it was: the anguish, twin of my own, burning deep within those shadowed eyes. Self-recrimination and blame, and a sorrow too thick to swim through. I felt myself smile as I shook my head at him and said, "No, you're not."

And then I kissed him, softly, barely touching his startled lips.

Again.

On the third pass, I let my tongue caress his lips, and Schuldig moaned against my mouth. His hands tangled in my hair, holding me still as his mouth opened to mine. He kissed back tentatively, hungrily, as though he had never kissed before and found it intoxicating.

If this were the last night of the world, I would be content to spend it right here, with this beautiful, damaged man in my arms.

He clutched at my shoulders as I ran my hands down his spine, and I felt more than heard him whisper, "Just touch me, everywhere, anywhere!" Logic told me he hadn't spoken that out loud, because I still held his mouth captive with mine. It didn't matter, I'd heard it clearly enough to make me smile against his lips before moving back from the kiss and winking at him.

Schuldig looked as flustered as a teenager and as helplessly aroused. He seemed about to protest as I knelt in front of him, my hands moving toward his waistband. What kind of games was he used to, if this made him so uncomfortable? "Stop worrying about it," I told him. "Or do you want me to stop?" I let one hand rest across his hard-on, then squeezed gently.

Schuldig groaned and clutched at my hair.

Fascinated by his need, I continued rubbing him, watching his face as he threw his head back and gasped. Such a simple thing, such a simple touch; what had this man endured to make this moment so powerful for him? No matter; I'd decided to make this night everything we could want, there was no need for questions.

He moaned again and bucked against my hand.

My own cock throbbed in sympathy.

I rose up from my crouch to kiss Schuldig again, deeply, with a promise of things to come. It had been a while since I'd done this, but I doubted that Schuldig would be criticizing my technique. I knelt between his feet and unzipped his jeans. The heat of his arousal pulsed through the fabric of his underwear, and I caressed it gently with my fingers before pressing my lips to the cotton and nibbling. He groaned, and I smiled against him, working my way up to the tip.

Schuldig's need seemed catching; I responded to his urgency by tugging his underwear away from his straining cock and mouthing the shaft. I wanted to go slower, but found myself moving quickly back up to the head. A soft pressure behind my eyes seemed to pulse in time with my own erection, and for a moment I had the weirdest feeling that Schuldig and I had exchanged places. Then my mind cleared and I concentrated on pleasuring my friend, nibbling at his foreskin and licking delicately around the tip.

His hands clenched in my hair, and I purred against his flesh, making him groan and buck. My fingers traced his shaft, so similar to my own that I could imagine my own touch – or was he doing something to my mind? It didn't matter, Schuldig teetered on the edge of climax, and so did I. I decided to slow things down a moment, see if that echo of his pleasure was real or an imagined thing. I paused and looked up at his face.

Schuldig whimpered, his eyes drawing up in momentary anguish. He caressed my hair, so gentle in spite of his need. These few moments let me clear my head a little, and I smiled at him reassuringly. Then I took him in my mouth again, soothing that fevered flesh with my tongue.

Schuldig cried out, the first real uncontrolled sound I'd ever heard him make. It was sudden, loud, and gutteral, and sounded like cursing. I suckled him as he came, drawing the climax out as long as I could without giving him pain. He trembled and gasped; I could almost taste his astonishment, and his gratitude.

My own need demanded attention. I moved up across Schuldig and kissed him, letting him taste himself on my lips. I wanted him, however he would have me.

Schuldig seemed to recognize this, and surged into the kiss. He gripped me tightly as I straddled his legs and ground against him, but just as I thought we'd decided our roles he freaked out, pushing me off and scrambling away until he stood panting against the wall. "I can't," he gasped. "I'm sorry."

"Is it Crawford?" I asked, concern and jealousy making my cheeks burn.

"No, Yohji. It's me." He re-zipped his jeans and paced back and forth like a caged animal. "I don't belong here."

"I didn't know you were Taoist," I quipped, banishing the jealousy and focusing on my distraught friend. "Does anyone truly belong anywhere, Schuldig? Where do you _want_ to be?"

He leaned against the wall, head back, eyes closing as though in prayer. "I want to be _home_."

If only he knew, he already was.

My heart skipped as I tasted the truth of it. I loved Schuldig, without any promise of its return. If I could keep him with me, I would. But I know I can't.

So he'll just have to keep a bit of me with him instead.

I crossed the room and stood in front of him, staring at the face that had so recently and so thoroughly etched itself upon my heart. He sensed my presence and opened his eyes. He looked as though he were about to cry.

Schuldig couldn't accept a simple gift of love. It had to be complicated, demanding.

I had to be stronger than his past.

I gripped his left wrist and pinned it over his head.

His lips parted to protest, and I claimed his mouth with my own. I slipped my left hand around to the small of his back and pulled him into me. His entire frame sagged with his surrender. Schuldig whimpered, his free hand gripping my shoulder as if to keep himself from falling.

If Schuldig needed a dominant lover to grant him permission to feel, I was more than willing to play that role for him. I let go of his wrist and reached up under his shirt. He groaned as I pinched and teased and scraped fingernails across his nipples, and his reaction fueled my own desire.

Damn, I wanted him!

Without a word, I took hold of his hand again and tugged him away from the wall. His eyes gleamed as I led him into the bedroom.

I stripped him deliberately and sensuously, tasting his skin as I went. He barely seemed to breathe at all. I had shrugged out of my shirt, intending to slip off my pants next, when I caught his gaze and just stood there a moment, staring into his eyes. Such trust, and such need!

One night. We had just this one night, we didn't dare pretend otherwise. I held Schuldig close and kissed him; he melted against me with a sigh.

But then: "Yohji, I can't.You don't understand."

Schuldig's fear seemed as tangible as fog to me. I tried to reassure him, but I couldn't shield him from the monster in his own mind.

He was afraid he'd hurt me.

I seduced him anyway.

Sex and death had long been mingled in my heart. How many times had I flaunted my luck in bed and in combat? A tell-tale point: though I kept condoms handy, I rarely bothered with them anymore. Why should I, when my night job had offered so many more interesting ways to die?

Schuldig's frantic surrender told me that he was the same.

We are so very much alike, he and I. So alive, and so terribly alone.

His voice at once raw and soundless, Schuldig cried out my name, and for a moment everything seemed to stop. Perspective inverted as though I'd been shoved through a mirror; my body shivered as every nerve seemed to fire at once. I heard a roar of white noise and within that deafening blur –

_::Stefan::_

– a name darted faster than the sleekest bird and was gone.

As reality began to make sense again, I peeled myself away from Schuldig's back and tried to make him comfortable. He crouched where we'd parted; he was bleeding from the nose.

"You all right?" I asked, my heart pounding in my throat. His face, the blood – I felt sick at the thought that he was hurt because of me.

But he nodded and smiled, and cleaned up as though this were perfectly normal for him. Within minutes he lay asleep in my arms. I could still taste the sweat from where I'd kissed him goodnight.

I missed him already.

* * *

A/N:

_fukaku fukaku ima mo  
sou...aishiteiru_

deeply deeply even now,  
yes...I love you

"Hoshi no Suna (Stardust)" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Rex - Initiation**

Persia's secretaries must embody three values: discretion, loyalty, and vigilance. They must be ready for any situation, and protect Kritiker's mission at any cost.

The current Persia has learned that this is not enough. Though he can't do this with his field agents, he can try to make certain that his secretaries, at least, maintain a sense of humanity. This, then, is the lesson.

**Yohji - Union**

Yohji hasn't had a lot of luck in love. Usually, as soon as he risks his heart, it's broken – or crushed by his own hands. To try again is either foolhardy or brave as hell.

I vote brave.


	31. 31

**31**

_fukaku fukaku ima mo  
sou...aishiteiru_

**Yohji ~ Union**

"It's so easy to just _be_ with you, and I'm down to counting the hours before I have to go again."

I blinked as the preceding day seemed to evaporate into nothingness. He's leaving, going back to his team. Back to Brad. I found myself staring blankly at my guest.

Schuldig smirked at me, though his eyes looked sad. "You sure you don't want to run away with me, to Amsterdam or something? Be a couple of hippies or whatever?"

I blurted the first thing that came to mind, hiding bitterness behind laughter. "You think I want Crawford hunting me down and shooting me where it hurts? Hell, no!" A part of me wished he'd been serious about it, and then I realized he had been but it just wasn't an option. "It's a nice idea, though. I've never been to Amsterdam."

"Me neither. But I hear it's a friendly place."

Sunset colored the window red-gold, deepening with evening and an expectant sort of quiet. He'd be gone tomorrow. I couldn't expect to ever see him again. Knowing this…just hurt. There was so much about Schuldig that spoke to me, whispered to the darkness in my soul.

If we only had this one night before the end of the world, what would I do with it?

I shut the window and turned the stereo on, still searching for that answer. To find it, I realized I needed to know one more thing about my friend, one thing that could be the key to his nature. If that nature belonged to Brad Crawford, all I could do would be to let him go gracefully. But if not… "Can I ask you something without you getting a headache over it?"

"Depends," he replied. "Try me."

"Why Schuldig?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Did you choose that name for yourself," I asked, returning to the couch, "or did someone give it to you?"

Schuldig fidgeted, stubbed out his cigarette with a savage twist. "No, I chose it."

"What are you guilty of?"

He bit his lip, then whispered, "Everything."

Everything, he said. No man is so debased as to be guilty of everything. Not even me. His pain struck that chord within me, sounded it so strongly that I knew I'd had my answer before I'd ever asked the question. We were two lost souls trying to remain human, and damned if I was going to let him fall.

I gripped his jaw, tilted his head back so I could look into his eyes. I could still be wrong about this, I had to know for certain, but there it was: the anguish, twin of my own, burning deep within those shadowed eyes. Self-recrimination and blame, and a sorrow too thick to swim through. I felt myself smile as I shook my head at him and said, "No, you're not."

And then I kissed him, softly, barely touching his startled lips.

Again.

On the third pass, I let my tongue caress his lips, and Schuldig moaned against my mouth. His hands tangled in my hair, holding me still as his mouth opened to mine. He kissed back tentatively, hungrily, as though he had never kissed before and found it intoxicating.

If this were the last night of the world, I would be content to spend it right here, with this beautiful, damaged man in my arms.

He clutched at my shoulders as I ran my hands down his spine, and I felt more than heard him whisper, "Just touch me, everywhere, anywhere!" Logic told me he hadn't spoken that out loud, because I still held his mouth captive with mine. It didn't matter, I'd heard it clearly enough to make me smile against his lips before moving back from the kiss and winking at him.

Schuldig looked as flustered as a teenager and as helplessly aroused. He seemed about to protest as I knelt in front of him, my hands moving toward his waistband. What kind of games was he used to, if this made him so uncomfortable? "Stop worrying about it," I told him. "Or do you want me to stop?" I let one hand rest across his hard-on, then squeezed gently.

Schuldig groaned and clutched at my hair.

Fascinated by his need, I continued rubbing him, watching his face as he threw his head back and gasped. Such a simple thing, such a simple touch; what had this man endured to make this moment so powerful for him? No matter; I'd decided to make this night everything we could want, there was no need for questions.

He moaned again and bucked against my hand.

My own cock throbbed in sympathy.

I rose up from my crouch to kiss Schuldig again, deeply, with a promise of things to come. It had been a while since I'd done this, but I doubted that Schuldig would be criticizing my technique. I knelt between his feet and unzipped his jeans. The heat of his arousal pulsed through the fabric of his underwear, and I caressed it gently with my fingers before pressing my lips to the cotton and nibbling. He groaned, and I smiled against him, working my way up to the tip.

Schuldig's need seemed catching; I responded to his urgency by tugging his underwear away from his straining cock and mouthing the shaft. I wanted to go slower, but found myself moving quickly back up to the head. A soft pressure behind my eyes seemed to pulse in time with my own erection, and for a moment I had the weirdest feeling that Schuldig and I had exchanged places. Then my mind cleared and I concentrated on pleasuring my friend, nibbling at his foreskin and licking delicately around the tip.

His hands clenched in my hair, and I purred against his flesh, making him groan and buck. My fingers traced his shaft, so similar to my own that I could imagine my own touch – or was he doing something to my mind? It didn't matter, Schuldig teetered on the edge of climax, and so did I. I decided to slow things down a moment, see if that echo of his pleasure was real or an imagined thing. I paused and looked up at his face.

Schuldig whimpered, his eyes drawing up in momentary anguish. He caressed my hair, so gentle in spite of his need. These few moments let me clear my head a little, and I smiled at him reassuringly. Then I took him in my mouth again, soothing that fevered flesh with my tongue.

Schuldig cried out, the first real uncontrolled sound I'd ever heard him make. It was sudden, loud, and gutteral, and sounded like cursing. I suckled him as he came, drawing the climax out as long as I could without giving him pain. He trembled and gasped; I could almost taste his astonishment, and his gratitude.

My own need demanded attention. I moved up across Schuldig and kissed him, letting him taste himself on my lips. I wanted him, however he would have me.

Schuldig seemed to recognize this, and surged into the kiss. He gripped me tightly as I straddled his legs and ground against him, but just as I thought we'd decided our roles he freaked out, pushing me off and scrambling away until he stood panting against the wall. "I can't," he gasped. "I'm sorry."

"Is it Crawford?" I asked, concern and jealousy making my cheeks burn.

"No, Yohji. It's me." He re-zipped his jeans and paced back and forth like a caged animal. "I don't belong here."

"I didn't know you were Taoist," I quipped, banishing the jealousy and focusing on my distraught friend. "Does anyone truly belong anywhere, Schuldig? Where do you _want_ to be?"

He leaned against the wall, head back, eyes closing as though in prayer. "I want to be _home_."

If only he knew, he already was.

My heart skipped as I tasted the truth of it. I loved Schuldig, without any promise of its return. If I could keep him with me, I would. But I know I can't.

So he'll just have to keep a bit of me with him instead.

I crossed the room and stood in front of him, staring at the face that had so recently and so thoroughly etched itself upon my heart. He sensed my presence and opened his eyes. He looked as though he were about to cry.

Schuldig couldn't accept a simple gift of love. It had to be complicated, demanding.

I had to be stronger than his past.

I gripped his left wrist and pinned it over his head.

His lips parted to protest, and I claimed his mouth with my own. I slipped my left hand around to the small of his back and pulled him into me. His entire frame sagged with his surrender. Schuldig whimpered, his free hand gripping my shoulder as if to keep himself from falling.

If Schuldig needed a dominant lover to grant him permission to feel, I was more than willing to play that role for him. I let go of his wrist and reached up under his shirt. He groaned as I pinched and teased and scraped fingernails across his nipples, and his reaction fueled my own desire.

Damn, I wanted him!

Without a word, I took hold of his hand again and tugged him away from the wall. His eyes gleamed as I led him into the bedroom.

I stripped him deliberately and sensuously, tasting his skin as I went. He barely seemed to breathe at all. I had shrugged out of my shirt, intending to slip off my pants next, when I caught his gaze and just stood there a moment, staring into his eyes. Such trust, and such need!

One night. We had just this one night, we didn't dare pretend otherwise. I held Schuldig close and kissed him; he melted against me with a sigh.

But then: "Yohji, I can' don't understand."

Schuldig's fear seemed as tangible as fog to me. I tried to reassure him, but I couldn't shield him from the monster in his own mind.

He was afraid he'd hurt me.

I seduced him anyway.

Sex and death had long been mingled in my heart. How many times had I flaunted my luck in bed and in combat? A tell-tale point: though I kept condoms handy, I rarely bothered with them anymore. Why should I, when my night job had offered so many more interesting ways to die?

Schuldig's frantic surrender told me that he was the same.

We are so very much alike, he and I. So alive, and so terribly alone.

His voice at once raw and soundless, Schuldig cried out my name, and for a moment everything seemed to stop. Perspective inverted as though I'd been shoved through a mirror; my body shivered as every nerve seemed to fire at once. I heard a roar of white noise and within that deafening blur –

_::Stefan::_

– a name darted faster than the sleekest bird and was gone.

As reality began to make sense again, I peeled myself away from Schuldig's back and tried to make him comfortable. He crouched where we'd parted; he was bleeding from the nose.

"You all right?" I asked, my heart pounding in my throat. His face, the blood – I felt sick at the thought that he was hurt because of me.

But he nodded and smiled, and cleaned up as though this were perfectly normal for him. Within minutes he lay asleep in my arms. I could still taste the sweat from where I'd kissed him goodnight.

I missed him already.

31

_fukaku fukaku ima mo  
sou...aishiteiru_

deeply deeply even now,  
yes...I love you

"Hoshi no Suna (Stardust)" – Gackt _Crescent_

**Yohji ~ Union**

Yohji hasn't had a lot of luck in love. Usually, as soon as he risks his heart, it's broken – or crushed by his own hands. To try again is either foolhardy or brave as hell.

I vote brave.


End file.
